


King's Crossing

by LowerEastSide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (five years), Age Difference, Angst, Battle of Hogwarts, Canonical Character Death, Death, Embedded Images, Eventual Happy Ending, Fanart, Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, M/M, Magical Theory, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Past Parvati Patil/Lavender Brown, Red String of Fate, Schrodinger's Malfoy, Soulmates, genius Parvati Patil, handwaving of physics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2020-04-12 14:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19134304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowerEastSide/pseuds/LowerEastSide
Summary: A familiar yet unexpected face greets Harry in the Forest at the close.Five years later, Harry comes to learn that destiny isn’t done with him yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title and header quotes from King's Crossing by Elliott Smith. Direct quotes from Deathly Hollows are found at the beginning and in Dumbledore's conversation with Harry. I also poached song lyrics from my old band to create a few lines about the Forest; sorrynotsorry.
> 
> There is a major archive warning that could apply, but I don't believe does. If you require a major spoiler for certain warnings see in the end notes.
> 
> Thank you to the ever-patient Bixgirl for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own. Also thank you to Elle for letting me throw some ideas at you early on. Thank you to M0stlyvoid for stepping in to beta as well, and keeping me on track!!!
> 
> And thank you from the bottom of my art-greedy heart to Skarhead for the absolutely _gorgeous_ [depiction of the first chapter.](https://lower-east-side.tumblr.com/post/185518287589/art-by-skarhead-commission-for-chapter-1-of) This fic truly feels alive thanks to you.

PART ONE

"I can't prepare for death anymore than I already have"

~~~

**_I open at the close._ **

_The black stone with it’s jagged crack running down the centre sat in the two halves of the Snitch.  The Resurrection Stone had cracked down the vertical line representing the Elder Wand. The triangle and the circle representing the Cloak and the stone were still discernible._

_He closed his eyes and turned the stone over in his hand three times._

~~~

All the trees were bending down to hold him in their arms. It was only the wind and the weight of the branches, but for Harry it was like walking into a cool embrace.

In daylight, seen from the edge, dappled patterns of sunlight danced on the forest floor, and the leaves shone in various shades of green. It was a lovely facade. Tonight there was only darkness, and if Harry closed his eyes it didn’t make much difference.

So much death in the Forest. The unicorn in first year, the acromantulas, the thestrals. The Death Eaters themselves. And now Harry, the dead man walking.

Surely there had to be life here, somewhere? Insects in the cracks of the wood, or worms in the soil. Strange birds and small mammals. The centaurs were nowhere to be seen, which was maybe for the best.

His hand was shaking as he rotated the stone. There must be a reason Dumbledore left it for him: to meet death, but not alone. He’d been taunted with this so many times. The Mirror of Erised. _Priori Incantatem._ This time it would be real — right? With a shuddering breath, he opened his eyes to greet his beloved dead.

But James and Lily Potter were not standing in the Forest. Nor was it Sirius, an eternal madcap grin on his face. Instead, it was a solitary boy, his blond hair nearly transparent in the moonlight. Not just his hair; his entire figure was shimmering like a mirage. Harry could see the trees through his face as he approached, bearing down ominously. Even from twenty feet away, Harry knew who it was.

“Malfoy?”

The expression on Draco Malfoy’s face mirrored the last time Harry had seen him, filled with terror as the flames bore down on he and his friends in the Room of Requirement. Harry had turned back, Ron and Hermione's cries of protest ringing in his ears, but through the thick smoke of the Fiendfyre Harry had only found Goyle, whose slippery hand he barely managed to clasp. Behind him, Ron —Gryffindor to the end — appeared with Crabbe in tow, but neither of them could locate Malfoy.

Malfoy had called out for help, crying, _begging,_ but had vanished in the smoke. Now he no longer pleaded, instead looking around in mute confusion. Was this a trick? Had he escaped the Room? It couldn’t be. If the Stone had somehow called Malfoy to him, then the other boy was definitely dead.

Malfoy approached, his feet passing through a low bush. Glancing around fearfully with every step, he finally spotted Harry and gasped.

“Potter? What are we doing here? Did the Room change again?”

The _Room?_ Did Malfoy not realise? Something clenched in Harry's chest, and he found himself unable to answer.

“Why would it be a forest?” Malfoy continued, oblivious to Harry’s distress. “I didn’t know the Room did trees. Or are we outside for real?”

“It’s real.” _Too real._

Malfoy closed his eyes in apparent relief. “Thank Merlin. I thought I was going to die.”

A sound like a ragged laugh escaped Harry’s lips, and Malfoy eyed him suspiciously.

“ _What_ are we doing in the Forbidden Forest, Potter?” Malfoy asked with an anxious tone.

Harry answered carefully. “I need… I’m going to Voldemort.”  

“You can’t go to him, he’ll kill you!” Malfoy unexpectedly protested.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Harry countered reflexively. Malfoy paled even further, his translucent skin going white.  

“Absolutely not. These past few months have been hell.” Harry remembered his shouts in the Room. _Don’t kill him, don’t kill him!_

“Then you know I have to stop him."

"All alone? Where did Granger and Weasley go? And where are Crabbe and Goyle?"

“They're back in the castle,” Harry said carefully.

“So why am I here?” Malfoy pressed.

“You’re… I called you here. With the Stone.” Turning his palm face up, he showed Malfoy, who peered at it skeptically.

“And what is that supposed to be.”

“The Resurrection Stone.”

“That’s a myth.” Realisation was dawning on Malfoy’s face. “And it’s for dead people.”

“Yeah, it is.” Harry had to go, he was on a deadline. He didn’t have time to talk Draco Malfoy of all people through an existential crisis.

"I don't believe you,” Draco sneered. “For one thing, I’m not dead. And why on earth would you call _me_ from beyond the veil to look upon my face one last time?” It sounded as if Malfoy was quoting a story. Harry supposed that pure-blood children grew up with various versions of Beedle the Bard.

“I didn't _call_ you. It just happened.”

“You're trying to scare me.”

“I don't have time for this, Malfoy.” Harry stepped back, and Malfoy thrust a hand out to grab him by the sleeve.

“Get back here, Potter!”

His fingers passed through Harry's like a wisp of smoke.

“I’m so sorry, Draco,” Harry whispered.  

Malfoy gasped and backed away, clutching frantically at the ferns and bushes around him, falling through them helplessly each time. “No, I can’t, _I can’t!_ ” He crashed to his knees, and Harry abruptly wondered why ghosts could walk along floors without falling through. But was Malfoy actually a ghost? How did the Stone even work?

Malfoy slapped himself in the face, shocking Harry. “Wake up!” he cried out, but of course nothing happened. His eyes rolled wildly, and he clawed at the left sleeve of his robe, wailing at the sight of the Dark Mark still starkly present on his flesh. Now verging on panic, Malfoy keened and wrapped his arms around himself. “Everything was for nothing,” he whimpered. He took several heaving breaths that sounded like he was sicking up.

Voldemort was waiting, but Harry couldn’t help wanting to comfort Malfoy, who was starting to hyperventilate. And did ghosts feel the need to breathe?

Through his gasps, Malfoy asked, “Are my parents still alive?”

“As far as I know.”

“If you see them, if they are with him… Will you please.... Please tell them I’m…” He broke off, barely able to speak.

Harry frowned. “I could tell them you said you love them?” He doubted he’d be able to have a conversation with any Death Eaters, but there was no reason to argue the point. Malfoy could believe whatever he needed to.

“They _know_ that! Merlin, I’d have run away at sixteen if I didn’t!” The stark admission took Malfoy aback just as much as Harry. He sat back on his heels, took a shuddering breath, then stood up on shaking legs. He seemed to take a moment to gather himself, then said in a trembling voice, “Tell them I wasn’t afraid.”

Harry couldn’t help himself. “That’s a lie, too, though.” Draco turned away sharply, his see-through eyes glistening.  

“I know. But tell them anyway.”

They stood silently for a beat, and then Harry blurted out, “Does it hurt?”

“Being dead?”

“Yeah.”

“Right now, no. I’m starting to recall… just a moment of total, searing pain. I think that must have been the Fiendfyre.” Harry cringed. The screams had been terrible, not to mention the smell of a thousand books and brooms and forgotten objects crumbling to ash.

Malfoy shook as he remembered it. “There won’t be a body. There’s nothing left of me. I’m nothing, oh god I’m nothing, I’m _nothing_ — !”

“Calm down!”

“How CAN I? I’m dead, you prick!”

“So am I!”

This stopped Malfoy short. “Wait, really? Is that why you can use the Stone? I thought you were on your way to some heroic, climactic battle.”  

“No.” Harry didn’t have time for a full explanation. “I am on my way to Voldemort, but I have to die. I’m... he can’t die until I do, it’s total shit but it has to happen, I can’t tell you more than that.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “What, so you’re just calmly,” he waved his hand in the air, “walking to your execution?”

Harry nodded. "Something like that.” His shoulders sagged. "I wanted to see my parents. That’s why I used the stone.”

Malfoy had the good grace to look abashed. “I don’t know why I’m here instead. Maybe because… it just happened. Is that why you asked about it hurting?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he’s more like to use _Avada Kedavra_ as anything, so it probably won’t.”

This didn’t make Harry feel any better. “Yeah, well… I’m kind of on a schedule here, so…”

“Oh.” Malfoy cast his gaze downward.  

“I really am sorry, Malfoy. I didn’t want anyone to die, not even you.” He paused, unsure if this admission would make Malfoy feel better or worse. “I wanted to save you. I tried to find you, but the flames were so high, and the smoke was too thick.”

Malfoy cocked his head curiously. “You tried to save me?”

Harry clenched his fists. "Too many people have died because of me." Malfoy snorted at that.

"Don't be a martyr, Potter. It's unattractive." The word _martyr_ hung in the air between them. "Anyway,” Malfoy continued, clearly trying to maintain a brave front, “then I would have been in your debt, and I’d have been a right arse about it, I’m sure.”

“Right.” The silence of the Forest was deafening around them. "I'd better…”

“Do you want some company?” There was a desperate note in Malfoy’s voice. “Until it’s time.”

Harry tried to lick his dry lips, but didn't have any spit. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

He wasn’t sure which way to go, so he just picked a direction and started walking. Malfoy followed close behind. It couldn’t hurt to have him along, right? When they read the story of the Three Brothers, Hermione had wondered aloud whether it was really the dead girl’s spirit or a false shade sent by Death to capture the second brother. There was no reason for Death to send Malfoy to tempt Harry anywhere, though. Oh, he’d tempted him in several ways over the years, but not in any way that would dissuade Harry from his task.

A few of last year’s leaves still covered the forest floor, and they crunched as Harry walked over them. Malfoy appeared to stride beside him, but his steps were soundless.

“Death is stupid,” Malfoy blurted out. “We’re wizards, why haven’t we figured this out yet?”

“I dunno, why don’t you ask Voldemort,” Harry answered dryly. “That was always his goal, to never die, and he’s killed for it.”

“I think that’s why they lie to us, you know. To stop people from trying, because it can go so wrong. Read a book about the search for the Philosopher's Stone, it’s always painted as such a fool's errand.” 

“Lie about what?”

“People,” and Malfoy didn’t elaborate on which people, “say we can only appreciate life with the threat of mortality hanging over us. But that’s bunk. I didn’t appreciate being alive any more while knowing I could die any day in the Manor. It just made me terrified.”

“You don’t think you’re grateful to have experienced the good things from your life?”

“No. All I can think about are the things I’ll never do.” His plaintive sigh cut Harry to the bone. Whatever things Malfoy had dreamed for his future, Harry would never do them either.

‘Of course,” Malfoy continued, ‘I haven't let myself think about the future for some time now. It was survival, day to day.”

‘I know exactly what you mean.” The long days spent camping, the rows, hunger, the strain on his psyche. It had been one foot in front of the other. He hadn’t even given much consideration to Ginny, to a career, to a life _after._ Maybe that was for the best; now Harry didn’t have many hopes to dash.

The Forest grew denser as they went deeper within. Harry found himself pushing branches aside; Malfoy ducked behind him, unwilling to glide through them even though he now had the ability. If he was trying to not bring attention to his ghostliness, it wasn’t working. Facing Malfoy’s mortality was bringing Harry’s own into stark relief. Distantly he recognised the practicality of Dumbledore not revealing his fate until the end: the more time he had to dwell on it, the more frightened he became.

Malfoy spoke up again. “People are going to remember you. They’ll remember that you did this, tell the story.”

“So what?” Harry snapped. Malfoy jumped back; he’d obviously meant it as a comforting statement. “I won’t be there. People can say what the fuck they want about me, I won’t know it.”

“Better than what they’ll say about me, I wager!”

“Who fucking _cares?_ You won’t know either!” Harry picked up his pace, and Malfoy obviously scurried faster behind him, because his voice was right in his ear.

“Maybe I _will_ know! Maybe — maybe people will come here and taunt me. Merlin, I’m going to be a dare for generations of Hogwarts students. Sneak into the Forest and take the piss out the ghost of Draco Malfoy.”

Harry snorted at that. “I thought ghosts were so strange when I came to Hogwarts. Most Muggles don’t think they’re real. They’re really afraid of death, too.”

“Most people are afraid of death.”

“Yeah, but it’s different. We know there’s at least _something_ else, for ghosts at least. And people don’t just disappear, there’s… there’s portraits, and shades.” Harry remembered the figures of his parents emerging from Voldemort's wand.

“Portraits aren’t real, though. It’s like a Pensieve of a person.”

“Do you have one? A portrait.” Harry imagined a snooty little Malfoy, berating passerby from a tapestry.

“I have several. I was sixteen in the last. I suspect my mother will burn it,” he added matter-of-factly.

“What? Why?”

“She never liked them. She thinks a glimpse of what you can never have again is cruel. She and Father had an awful row about putting her mother’s portrait in the Manor. I'm inclined to agree with her. It feels like grasping at a desire you can never fulfill.”

They moved deeper into the trees, winding around a small pond. The Forest didn’t smell as it should down here, like loamy soil and rotting leaves, crisp moonlight and chlorophyll. Instead it had the vague scent of Trelawney’s classroom: artificially spicy, damp velvet and black tea. Harry thought about portraits, the ones he had known at Hogwarts, the ones he wished existed.

“I don't have any of Sirius,” he voiced at last. “There weren't any in Grimmauld place, he was disowned.”

“He's my cousin,” was Draco’s only reply.

“Was your cousin.”

“I suppose I'm past tense now, too.”

“I hope I see him.” An owl hooted in the distance, and a thought struck Harry. “If you go anywhere, and see him first, if you see my parents, don’t tell them I’m coming. They'll be so sad.” It would have been different if they’d been able to hear it from Harry himself.

“Don’t be stupid, Potter. Even if I can escape this purgatory, I would never go to the same place as you.”

Did Malfoy believe he was going to Hell? Fuck, what if he _was_ going to Hell, trapped by the dark magic performed by and around him, imprinted in his very skin? Was there a Hell at all? Was there even a Heaven?

“Ghosts think there is Heaven, at least,” Malfoy said, and Harry realised he’d asked the question aloud.

“Ghosts also have a Headless Hunt,” Harry said nonsensically, and Malfoy burst out in startled laughter.

“They are rather absurd, for the most part. Binns doesn’t even know he’s dead.” He tried to swat at a leaf, but his hand passed through ineffectually. “Do you think I’m stuck here?”

Harry tried to imagine it: an eternity of the Forbidden Forest, only the animals and centaurs for company. Malfoy had always been frightened of this place.

“Maybe this is my punishment,” Malfoy continued, gazing around the Forest in trepidation. “It's an awful destination. Perhaps I _am_ in Hell.”

“To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure,” Harry quoted. “Dumbledore told me that. No, I don't believe there is a Hell,” Harry decided. “And I don't believe you'd go there, even if there was one. You don't take any pleasure in it.”

“In what, exactly?”

“Any of it. Torture, murder. You aren't your aunt.”

Malfoy scoffed. “We’re a whole rotten family, Potter, don't kid yourself. I don't think there’s any way for me to escape my roots, even in the afterlife. I'm tied to my tree surely as the leaves are tied to the ones all around us.”

“But Sirius and Andromeda…”

“They were brave. I'm a coward.” Malfoy gestured at the Forest. “I think I know why I'm here. I wasn't even brave enough to face the afterlife. I died like I lived, too weak to pick a side. Now I have to stand here helplessly and watch _you_ be brave, take the stand I couldn’t.”

“You think I'm brave? You don’t think I’m just giving up?” Harry whispered.

“You're stronger than me.” Malfoy closed his eyes, clearly uncomfortable at the admission. “I think I always admired you, in a way. I was jealous.”

“I wish…” It was pointless, but Harry felt it was something he should say. “I wish things could have been different.”

“No, you don’t,” Malfoy said, without malice. “You knew what you were doing when you refused my hand on the train. We were never destined to be friends, you and I.”

“Guess not.” There was no more to be said; Harry had spent enough time wallowing in _what-ifs_ when he was younger.

They continued along the path, and Harry spied a faint glow in the distance, likely from a fire. That had to be where Voldemort was waiting. Malfoy obviously spotted it as well, because he baulked along the path.

"I don't think I can go with you."

“No. I have to do this alone.”

“Everyone dies alone.” Malfoy ran a hand through his hair. “How unfair life is,” he muttered, almost petulantly. Harry figured he had a right to whinge. They were only boys, only _children_ really, no matter how old Harry felt in his bones.

And if he didn’t step up and do what he was raised for, more were going to die before the night was over. This was it, then.

The fear inside him made him reckless, and Harry stopped on the path and thrust his hand out. “Let's start over, here at the end. Potter. Harry Potter. Thanks for walking with me.”

Malfoy stared at the offered hand so long Harry thought the gesture might be refused. Finally he raised his eyes to Harry’s. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. It’s been an honour, strangely enough.” His ghostly pale hand rippled through Harry’s own sweaty one, a chill skittering along Harry’s fingertips. Suddenly Draco’s eyes went wide, and he watched his own hand fall limply back to his side. It was his right, so he couldn’t be looking at the Dark Mark. His gaze was locked on his wrist.

“Malfoy?”

“I suppose I should have expected no less from this tragedy,” he murmured. He looked at Harry again, with a gutted expression. “It’s a pity, isn't it. You and I. Our threads cut too soon.”

His voice was as hollow as his appearance. Harry wanted to comfort him, but there were no words of comfort to be had here at the bitter end. A sharp laugh echoed through the trees — Bellatrix? — and Harry squared his shoulders.

“It's time.”

“Go on, Potter. You're going to die like you lived, as well. Righteous and principled to the end.” There was an odd tinge of pride in the statement.

“Goodbye, Malfoy.”

“Goodbye, Potter. Good luck.” Harry saw Malfoy glance down at his hand, and hesitate, before fading back into the Forest.

~~~

Green light, and nothing.

 

~~~

In Kings Cross, much was revealed.

Harry’s talk with Dumbledore had been truly illuminating, but he could sense it drawing to a close.

“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we say good-bye for the present.”

Harry nodded. “Fewer families. Remus and Tonks are gone, you know. They left a son.” If only he could have seen Remus one more time, to say that he would look after Teddy.

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded sadly. “And so many of your peers, felled in their prime. But that is not your fault, Harry.”

“Our threads cut too soon,” Harry murmured.  

“Hmm?”

“Oh, nothing, just something Malfoy said.” Harry didn’t think he would ever forget a word of their conversation, the last before his apparently temporary death.

“Draco? Was he fighting alongside you?” Dumbledore looked hopeful. He had been willing to give Malfoy a chance, back on the Astronomy Tower. Harry hated to tell him the bad news.  

“No, he died. In the Room of Requirement. It all happened so quickly.” It was still so surreal, the fact of Draco's death.

Dumbledore seemed crestfallen. “I did not see him cross over. Perhaps his spirit hid from me. Did he not realise the error of his ways, then?”

“I think he might have, afterwards.”

“After death? So many of us do, it seems. I suppose you can assume Draco did, as well.”

“I don’t have to assume, he told me,” Harry explained. Dumbledore started beside him. ”Sir, the Stone, it didn’t work right. It just made Malfoy appear. Was it supposed to be my parents? Was it because he had _just_ died?”

Dumbledore stared at him more intensely. “Are you _very_ sure it was Draco Malfoy who came to you, Harry?”

“Completely sure. He was still a git, but he was really upset about being dead. He also wanted me to lie to his parents and tell them he wasn't afraid.” Harry didn’t finish the story. Draco walking with him as far as he could go, speaking with him about death and the afterlife, his words a strange comfort… that was a secret between the two of them.

“Oh, Harry. My poor boy.” Dumbledore looked piteously sad, and Harry was suddenly frightened.

“Why, what’s wrong?”

Dumbledore merely placed a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe someday you will understand. A thread cut too soon, indeed.”

  
~~~

Harry never felt so guilty as when he awoke on the cold ground of the Forbidden Forest and lied to Narcissa Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

PART TWO

"Then this is the place where time reverses..."

 

_Five Years Later_

 

“Teddy, be careful!”

Andromeda’s voice rang out across the garden, as Teddy barrelled full tilt over the grass, zooming his new figure of the Magpie’s star seeker up and down with his hands.

“That was a great present, mate,” Ron said, coming up behind Harry with a fresh drink in his hand. “Only, did you have to get him Bridger? Are you trying to turn him into a Magpie’s fan?”

Harry took the cool glass of lemon squash with a nod of thanks. “Maybe the Cannons can sign him, eh?”

Ron snorted. “I’m a lifelong fan, but even I know their limits.”

Laughter echoed around them, from children and adults alike. Even the absence of Teddy’s parents at this special occasion, his fifth birthday party, didn’t seem to bring the guests down. It was exactly the kind of carefree, pleasant day that Harry had needed.

“He certainly likes that better than our present,” Hermione observed. 

“Andromeda will read it to him at bedtime, I’m sure he’ll love it,” Harry assured her. “I wish I’d grown up with Beedle the Bard.”

“We got him Tales from Tabitha, as well. I’d not heard of that one, but Ron and Ginny both mentioned fond memories.”

It was bittersweet for Harry, discovering Wizarding culture for children through the eyes of Teddy. “Does that one have morbid stories like Beedle, too?”

“Worse!” Hermione laughed. “There’s one about a witch who eats toes, to the point she goes mad and eats her own. I’m not sure what lesson it’s supposed to impart. Oh! And there’s a fox character who reminds me of Lockhart that gets into an argument with a mirror trying to one up himself.”

“Does he end up in St. Mungo’s, too?”

“No, he ends up shouting the mirror to pieces. Most of the stories are humorous, actually, even the more disgusting ones. Ron and I got into a small argument about the Tale of the Threads, though.”

“Threads?” 

“It’s about a girl searching for her soulmate.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I said it was a metaphor, but Ron insisted there was truth in the story. Honestly, I think it sounds cruel to be tied to one person by a thread, doomed to unhappiness if the other dies and it’s cut.”

Something pricked at the back of Harry’s mind. 

_Our threads cut…_

“And what about the concept of choice?” Hermione continued. “Ron took it as a bit of an insult that I didn’t think we were soulmates, but I don’t need a thread tied from my wrist to his to know that I love him.”

“I’m sorry, what kind of thread?” Harry asked, suddenly picturing the devastated face of Draco Malfoy, five years ago in the Forbidden Forest, staring at his right wrist.

“Oh, some sort of intangible one.” Hermione waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Supposedly a secret spell reveals it. Or death.”

“And it’s on…”

“…your right wrist.” 

Malfoy’s sad, lonely voice came rising out of the fog of Harry’s memories.

_“It’s a pity, isn't it. You and I. Our threads cut too soon.”_

“What happened to the girl?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling very uneasy.

Hermione was oblivious to Harry’s thoughts. “She chased down Death to beg him to show her the thread. It’s obviously a parable about the dangers of fixation and the folly of the very concept of destiny.”

“We thought the Three Brothers were just a story,” Harry pointed out.

Hermione flushed. “Well, that had tangible proof! Your cloak is real.”

“So you don’t believe in these soulmate threads at all?” Harry pressed, recalling how Dumbledore had also become melancholy over the topic. 

“Honestly, don’t you start in on me as well.” Hermione sighed. “Don’t you think if fated lovers were real, you’d have ended up with Ginny?”

Harry cringed. “Ouch, Hermione.”

“I’m sorry.” She frowned apologetically. “I know that’s a sore subject.”

“I just wish it wasn’t such a do in the tabloids.” Harry took another sip of squash, swirling the ice thoughtfully. “It doesn’t mean there aren’t… soulmates, or whatever, though.”

He could feel Hermione’s curious eyes on him. “Well,” she said, almost begrudgingly, “if you’re interested in stories about soulmates, you might ask Parvati if she has any sources.”

“Parvati?”

“She just started working in the Department of Mysteries."

 

~~~

 

Parvati drove a hard bargain. 

“I want you to set me up on a date with Oliver Wood. Puddlemere is _amazing_ this season.”

Harry's eyebrows shot up. “You want what?”

“You heard me. I know you still talk.”

“Are you sure you’re allowed to trade a date for all the hidden knowledge of the Department of Mysteries?”

She waved him off. “Psssh, no Unspeakable knows everything. And it’s _you._ You probably have some epic, world-saving reason for asking.” Her voice was teasing. “So you’ll speak to Oliver?”

“I’ll even suggest that fancy new French place in Diagon,” Harry assured her.

As she led him towards her office, Harry considered her: her perfectly manicured hands, the delicate fabric of her robes. “Why did you…”

“Why did _I_ go into the Department and not my Ravenclaw sister?” Her tone indicated he wasn't the first to insinuate she was the less-clever twin. “After the war, I found myself questioning everything. Life, death, fate. I wanted answers.” They turned down a dim hall with sparkles in the air like stars, and Harry knew this must contain the Space room. Further on was Fate and Prophecy; he steeled himself against the memories he would face, but they continued past it.

“Oh, I’d assumed…”

“That because I liked Divination in school, I’d stick with that? You aren’t in Professional Quidditch, or an Auror. Why should I be any different?” She cocked her head. “What _are_ you doing these days, anyway?”

“Fending off questions like that,” he muttered. They stopped in front of a glowing door. The metal seemed to ripple, and a faint scent tickled his nose.

“What do you smell?” Parvati asked curiously. 

“Broomstick polish? Orange blossom, and… wait. That’s Amortentia!” he accused.

She nodded. “I work in the Love room.” The door opened to reveal a table of bubbling potions, all smelling of treacle and orange, as well as several experiments in progress. The entire room was filled with a gold sparkling mist.

Parvati led Harry to the centre of the room and allowed the mist to settle on their skin. “So, you had questions about the String of Fate?”

Harry started. “You do know about it, then?”

“We do,” she conceded,  “though it isn’t common knowledge, for a number of reasons. First, we’d have the entire population down here trying to hold hands with everyone else, and it would turn into chaos. Second, although there’s a deep magic here that we don’t yet understand, being tied with a String doesn’t mean two people will never have problems, or even be perfect for each other.”

“But it _does_ exist.”

“It does.” She did a complicated movement with her wand, then pointed it at her own wrist. Slowly a thread appeared, like a ghost in the fog. It was translucent, but clearly visible. The end was jagged, like it had been cut with a knife.

Harry watched in curious fascination as it moved in an invisible breeze. It was true, the whole story was _true._ And the thread had even been cut. “Why is it like that?”

Parvati smiled sadly. “Lavender.”

“I'm sorry.” Harry was suddenly afraid what his thread might look like.

“So am I.” She waved her wand in a reverse pattern, and the thread disappeared. “If she were alive, it would have extended to the border of the room, pointed in whatever direction she was on earth. Not very helpful, of course, since the world is so large. So you see that it can’t be used to actually find your soulmate, just tell you if they are still around.”

“What if they were in the room with you?”

“Then your wrists would be tied together. Unspeakables have seen it in the past, by bringing in two people who were excellent candidates. They even,” and here her voice lowered, “brought a couple in after one had died and become a ghost, to see if the threads held. They didn’t; both were cut. We don’t know what happens if both people are dead.” She looked at Harry gravely. “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

Harry wasn’t sure at all. What if it pointed outward? Should he bring Ginny to the room with him to test it? He still loved her, but not like the way he imagined true love would feel. They were better as friends. 

But what if it was cut, like Parvati’s? That didn’t mean it was Malfoy at the other end. The two of them as soulmates — that was crazy. But there had to be _some_ reason Malfoy had stared so wistfully at his wrist, or been summoned by the Stone in the first place.

“Do it,” he said.

Her wand waved again, and Harry felt warm. The air around him glittered brighter, and there it was, coalescing out of nothing.

Dangling forlornly from his wrist was a thread, torn and frayed.

It waved feebly, seeking out completion. Harry gulped back a sob, unexpectedly bereft. Was it really his fate to lose anyone he loved, anyone who could love him back? He glanced over at Parvati and noticed she had tears in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Harry.”

He wiped at his own eyes. “I think I knew.”

“Do you have any idea who?”

He hesitated. Malfoy was his secret to keep. “Take the spell off, please.” She reversed the spell and the thread disappeared.

Parvati and Harry were silent as they made their way out of the Love room and into her small, cosy office. Harry couldn’t think of anything to say; eventually Parvati spoke up.

“It will be OK, Harry. There’s a lot of life left to be lived.”

He plucked the tassel of a cushion idly. “How did you move on? I mean, obviously you’re looking to date.”

“With time, and love for myself. Lavender wouldn’t want me to be unhappy.”

“And you know it was her?” 

“I loved her,” Parvati whispered painfully, “and she’s gone. It makes sense. But I also have something she’d enchanted with her personal magic, and was able to use it like a compass. The thread points to it.”

“I don’t have —” Harry stopped. He _did_ have something of Malfoy’s. He had his wand.

“Harry, do you want to tell me what this is actually about?” Parvati asked carefully.

“Not really.” Harry steeled himself. “But I will. I have to know.” She waited patiently as he gathered himself. “You know the story of the Deathly Hallows, right?”

“Of course. Once word got out that Voldemort had been looking for the Elder Wand during the war, the Department began researching them immediately.”

“Really?” Harry perked up. “Do you have information on the Resurrection Stone?”

“You can’t bring people back to life,” Parvati said sternly. “And there’s no evidence of the Stone in literature past a certain point, and all of _that_ is hearsay.”

“Look, Parvati. I’m asking you as a friend, as someone who was in the DA, as someone who fought with me. Can you keep a secret?”

“Er, Harry,” she answered, bemused. “I’m an Unspeakable.”

“Right.” He stood up and paced, as much as he could in the small office. “You know that I met Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest right before the final stand.”

“Everyone knows that. Even if Rita Skeeter hadn’t written three books already, Narcissa Malfoy’s testimony is public record. She lied and said you were dead, because she blamed Voldemort for her son’s death.”

“No. She lied to get back to Malfoy in the castle.”

Parvati’s brow furrowed. “But Malfoy was dead already. Did she not know that?”

“I told her he was alive.”

Harry flinched at Parvati’s gasp. “Harry! How cruel!”

“I _needed_ her to lie for me. It was the only way to get back up to Hogwarts.”

“Well, it got her out of Azkaban, so she can’t be too angry at you.”

“Er, not so much,” Harry winced. “She said if I ever try to speak to her again she’ll hex me so hard our shared Black ancestors will feel it.”

“I suppose I can’t blame her. She’s grieving. As big a prat as Malfoy was, he was still her only child. Merlin, she didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“But I did,” Harry said, almost to himself.

“Right, you were the last to see him in the Room of Requirement.” 

Sometimes it still bothered Harry how many details of the final battle were public, but he’d taken History of Magic for long enough that he wasn’t surprised. The Wizarding world was obsessed with details. 

“Did you know McGonagall told me the Room won’t open anymore?” Parvati continued. 

“Really?” That took Harry by surprise. “The castle was repaired within a year.”

“I went back to consult on applications for the new Divination professor. It refused to reopen. McGonagall thinks it might still be on fire.” She didn’t meet his eyes.

“Merlin, that’s horrible.” Feeling sick, Harry recalled Malfoy’s trembling hands as he described the fire. _There won’t be a body. There’s nothing left of me._

“So…” Parvati pressed, “What’s this secret? That you lied to Narcissa Malfoy while you were playing dead?”

“Playing,” Harry snorted, and ignored Parvati’s puzzled look. “No, that’s not it. The secret is I saw Malfoy again, as a ghost. In the Forest.”

“Poor thing,” she murmured. “Did you speak to him?” 

A small part of Harry still marvelled at the easy acceptance of ghosts. “Yeah. It was… kind of awful, how confused he was at first.”

“That’s understandable. Ghosts can be agitated when they first arrive back on our side. I’m surprised it happened so fast, though. And why was he in the Forest?”

“I sort of… called him there.” Harry grimaced. “With the Resurrection Stone.”

Absolute silence fell over the room as Parvati looked at Harry, aghast. “You —” she finally stammered. “You tried to bring Malfoy _back from the dead?_ ” Her voice rose, and Harry shushed her.

“I didn’t! I wanted to see my parents —”

“You tried to resurrect your PARENTS? Harry, you can’t mess around with life and death like that!”

“No!” Harry collapsed back in the chair, both hands pulling at his hair. “I just wanted to say goodbye before the end! Dumbledore left me the Stone to use, I thought if I could just speak to them, it would all… be OK.”

Parvati took a deep breath and composed herself. “So… why Malfoy?”

“That’s what I’ve always wanted to know. For a long time, I assumed it was because he’d only just died, and I’d been there. But there was something else.”

“The soulmate threads,” she breathed. “Oh, Harry, I thought you _hated_ him! I didn’t know you were —”

“We weren't!” Harry hastily explained his encounter with Malfoy in the Forest. “And right before we said goodbye… he saw something. He stared at his wrist like the world was ending, said it was a tragedy that our threads had been cut too soon.”

“So you weren’t having a forbidden love affair?” she asked. Harry shook his head vigorously, and she looked almost disappointed. “Then why would you think it was a soulmate thread?”

“Dumbledore — I saw him as well, just don’t ask — said something about them, too. That I’d understand about the threads someday. Look, Parvati, I don’t think it was a coincidence.”

“So you weren’t in love,” she asked doubtfully, “but you still think your soulmate was Malfoy.”

“I don’t know what to think. But that person, whoever they are… obviously, they’re dead. We saw that in the Love room. And Malfoy… he looked heartbroken.”

“And you didn’t see what he was looking at.”

“No. But could he maybe see it as a ghost?”

“It’s feasible,” she mused. “Ghosts can see many things mortals can’t, like portals and wards. But why would Malfoy think it was you of all people?”

“It showed up when he tried to touch me,” Harry said flatly, and Parvati winced in sympathy.

“It does sound possible, Harry. Is that what you came to find out today?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Harry admitted. “I’ve wanted to know if the soulmate threads are real since I heard about them and put two and two together. And then, I suppose I wanted to know if it really was Malfoy, and if the Stone brought him over because of it.”

“If he was your soulmate, then yes, I think that could be why. This is all conjecture, of course.” 

“I have his wand,” Harry offered. “Maybe I could…”

“Will it help?” she questioned, not unkindly. “Knowing for sure?”

Harry sighed. “Maybe not.”

“I tell you what, think about it and let me know. I owe you, Harry —” she put her hand up to stop his protests “— not just like we all owe you, but personally. For showing me I could be brave, for teaching me to fight.”

“You’re a Gryffindor, Parvati,” Harry smiled. “How could you do anything else?”

 

~~~

 

Two weeks later, Harry hadn’t made up his mind. He’d taken Malfoy’s hawthorn wand out of a drawer and stroked it idly, feeling the magic inside. But he couldn’t seem to resolve whether to take it to the Love room, or hide it away again, or give it to Narcissa Malfoy.

Before he could make a decision, Parvati’s owl arrived with a summons.

Back in her office, Harry noticed that her expression was more wary than the last time they’d met. “Parvati? Did you have something to tell me?”

She motioned towards the chair. “Sit, Harry.” He did as he was told. “After we spoke last time, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Everything we know about the Resurrection Stone involves the bearer summoning a shade on purpose. You didn’t consciously call for Malfoy, it _sent_ him, which lends credence to the idea that he’s your soulmate, although we don’t know for sure.” Harry’s hand twitched toward the wand in the side-pocket of his robes.

“And then,” Parvati continued, “I began to think about the Room of Requirement. Specifically, about how it works.”

“Er, magic?” Harry joked.

“I think it works on probability. That is, the Room is all things at once, and becomes what you need because it already is. There is some magical precedent for that, and all my research indicates the Room is a perfect culmination of the craft.”

“And we broke it.” Harry slumped in his seat. “Just another thing ruined by the war.”

“Or…” Parvati bit her lip, obviously hesitant. “Harry, it’s your turn to keep a secret.”

“Yeah, of course. You can trust me.”

“The Room of Requirement… it’s not really broken, per se. It’s reverted to a state of quantum superposition.”

Harry straightened a bit. “Meaning?”

“I did a little investigating. There’s no way Fiendfyre could burn for this long. But something you did locked it in a moment. The last moment, before Malfoy died.”

“Locked it?” Harry said, horrified. “You mean — he’s still _dying_ in there?”

“No!” she rushed out. “I mean he’s not only dead.”

“I’m sorry. What?” Harry shook his head to clear it. “Parvati, I spoke with his ghost.”

“You may have spoken with a psychic projection. From what I can gather, it shouldn’t be possible for someone to die in the Room at all. It’s imbued with protective magic and should eject people in cases of true mortal peril.”

“But it closed with Malfoy inside,” Harry protested.

“Fiendfyre is one of the most destructive curses known, because it causes both physical and magical damage. Even then, the Room should have spit you out when it started, before the damage was able to spread. But it couldn’t, because something Dark was holding it open.” She gave Harry a hard look. “You had a Horcrux in there, didn’t you.”

Harry wavered. “Yes,” he admitted at last. The existence of the Horcruxes — six of them, at least — had come to light when he’d had to account for his actions at Gringotts and the Ministry, and clear Snape for Dumbledore’s death. 

Parvati nodded, almost smugly. “I knew it. The Horcrux was more powerful than the Room, and blocked the protective magic, allowing the Fiendfyre to spread with you all inside. But you — and I'm still not clear on how — _carried_ the Horcrux out, and then the Room was able to seal itself. You didn’t see Malfoy die, did you?”

“I heard him screaming for help,” Harry whispered. “And he told me he felt a searing pain before appearing in the Forest… but he wasn't burned. But why didn’t the Room eject _him_ after the Horcrux was gone, if he wasn’t dead yet?”

“By that point it had been too badly damaged by the spellfire to work properly anymore. But since the Room is based on probability… well, have you ever heard of Schrödinger’s cat?”

Harry laughed, a bit hysterical. “Why is there a cat involved all of a sudden?”

“It’s a Muggle thought experiment. I’m not going into physics at this late hour, but think of the Room like this: it exists in every possible state. It’s still burning, or the fire burned out. Malfoy died, or he’s about to die, or he’s about to be spit out of the Room. Until we open the Room, or _fix_ it, it won’t come to a conclusion.”

Harry tried comprehend what she was telling him. “But you said we _can’t_ open it.”

“Not yet. But Harry, there might be a way. No one has really tried until now, because the idea of the Fiendfyre escaping was so dangerous to Hogwarts. But what if we have a channel to someone inside?”

Harry took a shuddering breath. “You think I can use the Stone to talk to Malfoy. But doesn’t the fact that the Resurrection Stone is what called him up in the first place mean that he’s really dead?”

“He may have died before the door shut, yes. But the Stone may have simply worked because his death is one ongoing possible state. Either way, perhaps there’s still a way to use that connection.”

Harry’s mind was racing with the possibilities. “Parvati… you’re — you’re a genius. How did I never know this about you?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t always apply myself in school. Being an Unspeakable, though. It’s enlightening.” 

The last thing Harry wanted to do was go back to the night of the Battle. But if there was a chance to save Malfoy… 

"So many people died that night," he said softly, mindful of Parvati's own loss. "If it's really possible to save him, I want to try."

She nodded in agreement. “We’ll get your man, Harry.”

“He’s not my man,” Harry snorted. “He just doesn’t deserve to be left there.” It was more than that, of course. Malfoy had shown Harry a different side of himself as they walked through the Forest. “This isn't because he might be my soulmate, or whatever,” he added hastily. “I still can't wrap my head around that. Even if I could move past our history, I don't know how I feel about him.”

“And he hasn't had a chance to move past anything,” Parvati pointed out.

“Merlin, he’ll still be seventeen,” Harry realised with a start. “His mother is going to faint if I pull this off.”

“Send an owl to McGonagall,” Parvati encouraged. “Let me know what she says, if we can have a go at fixing the Room if Requirement.”

“We?” Harry was taken aback. For all she was helping him, he and Parvati weren't close.

“I just… I want you to have this chance, Harry.” _The chance I didn’t have_ was left unspoken.

They shared a moment of knowing silence. “I'll owl McGonagall tonight,” Harry said at last. “Thank you, Parvati.” He stood and hugged her tightly. “Thank you.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Professor McGonagall had been intrigued by the idea, but insisted they wait until term was over for summer before trying any “half-cocked plans.” 

Once June was over and it was deemed safe, Harry met up with Parvati at the Three Broomsticks; they didn't stick around for a drink. Nervously, Harry glanced over at Rosmerta. He knew Malfoy would have to answer for the things he’d done, but it was better than being dead. Or not-quite-dead. 

“There's no time limit on this, right?” Harry asked as they made their way down the path to Hogwarts. Somehow it felt longer than when they were at school. “I mean, if we can't figure it out, the Room will just stay… stuck?”

“In theory. Of course, _all_ of this is theory. I'm just hoping that connecting Draco to the outside world while we open the Room will lead it to expel him.” The way Parvati had explained it to Harry was in three parts: he would contact Malfoy, then open the doors while they were connected. Professor McGonagall would hold back the flames from spilling out into the school, as Parvati would work the complex repair magic she had been researching on the Room of Requirement, causing it to spit Malfoy out as it was originally designed.

“And not kill him. Or us, actually.”  

“Right. I don't think McGonagall would have agreed if she was truly worried the fire would rage out of control, but then again, she did ask us to come between terms, so…”

The gravel on the pathway crunched under their feet as they approached the gates. In the distance loomed the Forbidden Forest, imposing as ever. It seemed quiet as a grave, Harry thought. His own grave. He had never known anyone other than himself who had come back. Was Draco frozen in time? Or was he somehow conscious in his limbo, thinking he was dead? 

“Do you still think we shouldn't mention the threads to Professor McGonagall?” Parvati asked hesitantly, intruding on his morbid thoughts. Neither she nor Harry had been entirely clear in their letters on _why_ they thought Draco Malfoy might still be alive, only that Harry hadn’t seen him die.

“It won't matter, will it? It might just throw her off. I know I'm still in shock. I mean, it's Malfoy. We didn’t exactly get on.” 

Parvati laughed lightly. “Perhaps it does make sense. You and Malfoy always clashed, but you also paid an absurd amount of attention to each other. If the war hadn’t happened, or more importantly, you hadn’t started out on the worst foot possible, that may have evolved into attraction.” Harry snorted, but Parvati gave him a knowing look. “I do work in the Love Room, you know.”

“It’s so strange,” Harry said, glancing at the Forest again. “I’ve thought of Malfoy from time to time, but never because of that. Only when I’m thinking about… well, death.” Malfoy’s death and his own had become inextricably linked in Harry’s mind. He wasn’t the first or even the last person Harry had seen die in the war, but their final encounter had been so intimate. 

 _Intimate._ He’d better not say that word to Parvati, who hadn’t lost her matchmaker tendencies, genius or not.  Luckily, he was saved from any more uncomfortable talk of romance by their arrival at the school.  

Harry paused, looking back over his shoulder. The Forest was verdant with spring. He realised he'd never been inside during daylight, at least not past the edges. It didn’t look quite so foreboding against a blue summer sky.

Parvati eventually cleared her throat. “Harry? Are you coming? McGonagall is expecting us.”

“Can you go on ahead, Parvati? I'd rather get this over with.” He gestured toward the Forest. 

“You don't want me to come along?” She looked disappointed. But Harry couldn’t bear the thought of having someone else make the walk that Malfoy had accompanied him on. Especially since Parvati didn't know the whole truth — didn't know Harry had died as well. 

“I’ll catch up.”

 

~~~

 

Harry had told Dumbledore he would not go looking for the Resurrection Stone. He felt badly for breaking his promise, but as he approached the Forest, he also felt a sense of excitement. It had been a long time since a rush of adrenaline had surged through his veins. Rescuing Malfoy was a new adventure, and although the stakes were high, the fate of the world wasn’t resting on his shoulders.

 _Not like last time._ Bracing himself against the memories, he attempted to retrace his — and Malfoy’s — steps.

The Forest seemed brighter than it ever had before. Streaks of sunlight came through the canopy to illuminate clumps of ferns and wildflowers, and there was a fresh scent in the air. It made Harry’s task a bit easier. Still, he didn’t let his guard down. Hagrid may have told Harry back when he was eleven that there was nothing to fear in the Forest, but that hadn’t been true in the end.

 _And Malfoy was with me the first time I came here, too. The first, and the last._ Maybe Parvati was right, maybe there really was some sort of destiny winding around he and Malfoy, something they’d never recognised drawing them together over — 

No. That’s not why he was saving Malfoy. If there was a way to reverse _any_ casualty of the war, short a Time Turner, Harry was going to try.

And he owed it to Malfoy in particular, didn't he? Harry had failed him in the Room, then brought him out to the Forest and watched him shake in terror at the fact of his death. Even if they'd reached some understanding at the end, he knew that Malfoy would never have wanted Harry to witness his fear. 

 _Tell them I wasn't afraid._ Harry hadn't told Narcissa Malfoy anything of the sort. He'd lied to her face, whispered that her son was safe in the castle, then watched her calling out for her only child in the last hectic moments of the battle. He never liked her and he never would, and he knew he did what he had to. It didn't make facing her any easier, the day after everything shook out. When Harry admitted there'd be no body for her to bury, he thought she might kill him by the force of her glare. 

_If everything goes well, by tomorrow she'll have her son back._

And Draco would have a lot of catching up to do. He was legally an adult when he… disappeared, but he'd still been in school. Now his father was in prison, his mother on house arrest, and his friends had likely moved on. Harry wasn't exactly sure; he mostly kept to himself and his close family these days. Honestly he didn't feel as if he'd grown up all that much, five years older or not. 

Snapping off a low hanging branch, Harry recalled how Malfoy’s hand had slipped through the leaves even as his feet glided along the path beside Harry's. He'd always thought of the other boy as a coward, but Malfoy had seemed to face his death with some fortitude, in the end. 

The footpath was still visible, and eventually he came to the clearing where the Death Eaters had gathered during the Battle of Hogwarts. The spiders had never returned, but a few trailing wisps of web still fluttered from a stately sycamore tree. Here the Forest was not so renewed, and a staleness settled around Harry as he scanned the area. Somewhere under the years of fallen leaves, all his answers lay hidden.

It took less time that he expected.

First he kicked aside some debris where the path ended, where he would have paused before marching to his death. Then he went down on his knees and sifted through the dead leaves with his hands. Before he began spreading out, he pulled his wand. 

“Can’t hurt,” he muttered to himself. “ _Accio!_ ”

A rustle, and the Stone was flying towards him. Wide-eyed, Harry grabbed it from the air like an errant Snitch, and blinked. _That was easy._

It looked just as it always did in his dreams, and nightmares. Cracked and small, deceptively simple for so powerful an artifact. Harry stared at it lying in his palm.

He still wondered if it could summon his parents.

It was too great a risk: what if the Stone called Malfoy out in the Forest again? But perhaps, if Harry concentrated…

“Harry!”

With a gasp, Harry spun around, but there was no one there. “Harry!” the voice called again, this time closer. A butterfly, its wings beating madly, suddenly appeared in front of his face; Harry tamped down the instinct to swat at it. 

“I’m in McGonagall’s office,” the butterfly said, and Harry realised it was Parvati’s Patronus. “You’ll need the password,” her voice continued. “It’s Jelly Slugs.”

 

~~~

 

With a jolt of painful nostalgia, Harry gave the gargoyle the password and headed up the spiral stairs. As she said, Parvati was waiting for him, along with Professor McGonagall, who peered at Harry over the top of her spectacles.

“May I ask why you felt the need to visit the Forbidden Forest all of a sudden, Mr. Potter?”

It was like being a first-year again. “There was something I had to check on, Professor.” He didn’t think he’d ever be able to call her _Minerva,_ even if they were on much less formal terms these days. 

“This school is my responsibility, now. Please refrain from trespassing in places that are labelled _forbidden,_ not that any sort of rules have stopped you before.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest that he was an adult now, but caught sight of the smile tugging at Professor McGonagalls lips. “It is good to see you, Harry. Now, tell me about this plan you and Ms. Patil have cooked up.”

Harry let Parvati do most of the talking, while his eyes wandered over the portraits still on the wall. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. That was good; Harry wasn’t in the mood for explanations or apologies. The space where Snape’s portrait once hung was blank, however. Had he requested it be moved to the dungeons? Only the curious eyes of Phineas Nigellus Black were focused on Harry. Draco was his descendant, wasn’t he?

“Your theory is sound.” Professor McGonagall stated, bringing Harry back to the present. “I will be able to help you, to an extent. The school works with me, you see. If I cast a strong _Protego_ , it should hold against the Fiendfyre long enough for you and Ms. Patil to bring out Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps it will even help protect him from the flames. You must act quickly, however. Time will be of the essence. Harry, Ms. Patil tells me that you have a way to communicate with him?”

Flicking his eyes back over to Dumbledore’s portrait — still empty — Harry opened his hand. “It’s the Resurrection Stone, Professor.” 

The only betrayal of Professor McGonagall's shock was a tensing of her hand. “You cannot bring Draco Malfoy back from the dead if this fails. That is not what I agreed to.”

“No, Professor!” Parvati assured her. “That’s not our intention. But he’s between life and death, so the Stone can allow us to speak with him, and act as a focus. Remember, we’re hoping to stop him from dying in the first place.”

Professor McGonagall eyed the Stone with distaste. “I won’t ask how you came by such a thing, Harry. I only ask that you lose it again when this is over.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Then let us proceed.”

The route through the halls to the Room of Requirement was imprinted in Harry's mind. He needed no directions. Parvati trailed behind he and Professor McGonagall, making small motions with her hands and muttering to herself. Harry supposed she was going over the plan one final time with herself.

“Have you given any more thought to my offer, Harry?" Professor McGonagall asked him. Parvati didn't make a sound, but Harry could almost feel her interest pique. 

“I've had other things on my mind, Professor. But I promise I'll consider it.”

“Indeed. Professor Barnett only signed on as a temporary measure. We will be without a Defence Against The Dark Arts instructor again after this coming year. I’d hate to think you applied yourself and studied for your NEWTs so soon after the war just to let your education go to waste.”

“That was Hermione’s idea.” Harry didn’t regret it, necessarily. But it had been so exhausting, and so soon after the funerals… Her next idea had been much more appealing. 

Eventually they stopped in front of the large double doors of the Room of Requirement. Harry approached them cautiously, and sprung back when he felt the heat emanating through them out into the hall. Memories rushed back, of spells soaring through the air, of screaming, of Draco’s voice pleading for help.

“How could anyone survive in there?” he asked, despair creeping into his voice.

“It hasn’t concluded yet, remember?” Parvati’s voice was soothing even as she reassured Harry by explaining the plan for what felt like the hundredth time. “It’s like the cat, when we look inside the experiment resolves. We’ll all work together to make sure it resolves the way we planned.”

Harry rolled the Stone around in his sweaty palm. “Right. Got it.” A terrible thought occurred to him, one he should have considered sooner. “What if he dies while we’re trying? Will the Stone bring him back, even though that’s not what I’m trying to do?”

“His ghost, maybe.” Parvati cocked her head thoughtfully. “I’m still not convinced the Resurrection Stone really brings people back. You’ll have some explaining to do if that happens. I can’t imagine Malfoy’s ghost would be happy with you.”

“Do let’s try to get this right, then,” Professor McGonagall added dryly. “I’d rather not have Draco Malfoy haunting the halls of my school.”

Parvati laughed, but Harry could only recall Malfoy’s despair at not leaving a body. If they bollocksed this up, that fear would come true, and it would be all Harry’s fault. His previous excitement withered away in the hot air of the hallway.

There would be no second chances.

“Right,” Harry said, swallowing back his nervousness. Soulmate or not, Malfoy was depending on him. “Let’s do it.”

None of them had been faced with a battle since that fateful night five years ago, but they all fell into their stances easily. Professor McGonagall cast a wide, strong field of _Protego_ while Parvati began making complex movement with her wand, preparing the Arithmantic spells that would hopefully repair the Room. For his part, Harry braced his feet and held the Stone in his open hand, thinking hard about speaking to Malfoy.

Seconds ticked by as nothing happened. At long last, a faint shimmer materialised in front of the warm doors and slowly resolved into a person.

Appearing exactly as he had on the morning of May 2nd, Draco Malfoy stood blinking in confusion. He was still transparent, still dishevelled, but unburnt or otherwise injured. Harry nearly gasped in relief; their plan was working so far. 

“Po— Potter? What’s happening?” Malfoy looked around frantically, both at the setting as well as Professor McGonagall and Parvati, who were both seemingly pointing their wands straight at him. It had to be unsettling, to be in the Room one moment, then the Forest the next, then back in Hogwarts. 

“Why are we here? Didn’t you — I thought you were dead? Are we _all_ dead?” 

“Malfoy, I need you to stay calm.” Harry held one hand out in a placating manner. He couldn’t resist a quick peek at Malfoy’s wrist, and his own, but no threads had appeared. “We aren’t dead, and you aren’t, either.”

“I don’t understand. We were in the Forest. He didn’t _win,_ did he?” Malfoy cringed, horrified at the thought.

“No! You’re safe now. Your mum is safe.” That caught Malfoy’s attention, and Harry continued. “We’re trying to save you.”

“But I’m…” Malfoy was baffled. “Potter. We said goodbye. Don’t you remember?”

As if Harry would forget that moment, ever. “I was wrong.” Malfoy’s eyes went wide, but he only stared at Harry, who continued to try and reassure him. “We’re trying to fix the Room, OK? I’m going to open it while we’re talking and… you’ll see. Just focus on me, alright?”

“You look different,” Malfoy pointed out. Harry didn’t respond to that; he didn’t want to deal with the five-year time gap while they were still trying to save Malfoy’s life. 

“Everything will be fine.” Harry glanced over at Parvati, who was drawing complicated shapes in the air. “Your mum is going to be so happy to see you, yeah?”

Hope glimmered on Malfoy’s translucent face. “She’s really alright?”

“Really soon, I promise.” Harry gave a slight nod to Parvati, then spoke to Malfoy again. “Don’t lose focus on me.”

“I still don’t understand what’s going on, but trust me Potter, you have my full attention.”

Harry began concentrating on the door just as he used to. _I need the room where everything is burning,_ he thought, although there were no other options. A low creak echoed around them as the doors seemed to strain at the hinges, and Parvati began chanting furiously, while Professor McGonagall’s stern face told Harry her _Protego_ was holding well.

“Don’t be scared,” Harry said, as much to Malfoy as himself. 

“Of what?”

The doors burst open in a rush, and tongues of fire licked at the edges of Professor McGonagall's shield spell. Malfoy whirled around in panic, but being a shade, the fire couldn’t harm him, only terrify him. Parvati’s voice grew louder, and light flared from her wand and illuminated the doors, outlining them in vivid blue.

“Stay calm!” Harry tried to yell to Malfoy over the roar of the flames. “Just stay —”

Malfoy disappeared.

“No!” Harry turned to Parvati in a panic. “Where is he? Did it kill him?”

“It’s resolving!” she shouted back, her wand still in movement. “He’s no longer between possibilities! The Stone can’t call the living!”

“He could still die!” Harry felt helpless, there was nothing else for him to do now, only hope that Parvati’s repair spells combined with bringing Malfoy to focus had allowed the Room to — 

In a great rush of warm air, the flames pulled back, and Malfoy came tumbling out of the Room of Requirement just as the door clanged shut behind him.

A solid, opaque Malfoy.

He was on his knees, gasping for air. Quickly, Harry scrambled forward to help him. The tips of his blond hair were singed, and he was covered in soot, but didn’t appear to be burned anywhere. Harry reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, and shuddered in relief as it met resistance.

“You’re OK. Merlin, you’re OK.” Harry fought back the urge to embrace Malfoy, who still seemed to have trouble drawing a breath.

Professor McGonagall appeared at Harry’s side. “Smoke inhalation,” she pronounced, wrapping Malfoy in a sort of bubble charm. “He needs to be taken to Poppy immediately.”

“I’ll help.” 

“He’ll need to be isolated overnight with clean air. You can see him in the morning.”  She turned to Parvati. “Ms. Patil, can you finish things here?” 

“Yes, I can perform the rest of the repair spells on the Room from here.” Parvati stared in fascination at the trembling, sooty Malfoy.

“Potter,” he croaked. “You’d better explain what’s happening.”

“Don’t try to speak, Mr. Malfoy. And no, don’t try to stand, either. You’ve been through an ordeal.” Professor McGonagall levitated Malfoy beside her. “Everything will be explained to you shortly.” 

Malfoy coughed violently, and tried to catch his breath. “Just tell — tell me — is it — over?”

“The battle’s over,” Harry confirmed. “Now try to rest.” Malfoy nodded, and closed his eyes, allowing Professor McGonagall to levitate his still-shaking body alongside her towards the Hospital Wing. 

Harry stood back as Parvati finished the spells, lost in his thoughts. He’d had weeks to think about what he’d say to Malfoy, and was still no closer to knowing. For Malfoy it had only been moments between saying goodbye in the Forest to being pulled out of the Room. How would Harry explain the circumstances leading up to the rescue? For that matter, how would Malfoy deal with the five years he had missed? Harry was under no delusion that they would suddenly become friends.   

But Malfoy was _alive._ They had done it! After so much planning, it was over in a manner of minutes, and they had succeeded. All of Harry’s fantasies of saving people who’d died in the war… and he finally got to save one of them. He couldn’t help but grin. He'd figure out what to say in the morning.  

And he definitely wasn’t going to mention the threads.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Harry crept into the Hospital Wing before breakfast. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be found, but alone in a bed at the end of the row was Malfoy. He was sitting up, still looking exhausted and pale, but no longer covered in soot or gasping for breath. A tray of breakfast was on the table next to him; he picked absently at a piece of toast while staring into space. _He must be in shock,_ Harry thought. _I would be too, if I suddenly tumbled five years into the future.  
_

Just then, Malfoy caught his eye and froze. Harry scuffed his foot on the floor, unsure if he should approach. Of course things were going to be awkward. For Malfoy, the war had ended abruptly only a day ago. Gathering his courage, Harry strode down the aisle of beds and spoke into the silence.

“Hey, Malfoy. You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Malfoy sank back against his pillows, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, and then arched a brow, a gesture so familiar that Harry was thrown back in time. “And you look as if you finally bought clothes that fit. Took you long enough.” His voice was raspy, but the old Malfoy wit was seemingly intact. The small smile he gave Harry was a far cry from his old sneer, however.

“Grew into them, I guess.”  Harry smiled nervously. “So you know, then, about…”

“That I've been stuck in a time loop? That the whole world has moved on five years while I've been there?" Malfoy shook his head in disbelief. "Yes, Professor McGonagall filled me in. Madam Pomfrey as well, once she got over the shock of seeing me.”

“It was more like a probability loop,” Harry explained. “You were the cat in the box, see —”

“I beg your pardon?” Malfoy coughed, one hand over his mouth. Harry went to fetch him a glass of water from the tray.

“Thank you.” After taking a sip, Malfoy continued. “How am I a cat?”

Harry scratched his head. “Parvati should explain it. I mean, I understand, she's just better at putting it in words.”

“I noticed her outside the Room of Requirement. Why was she helping?”

“She's with the Department of Mysteries, now. Absolute genius, it turns out.”

“Hmm.” Malfoy took another drink of water. “But why was she… I mean, how did you get her to help?”

“Get her to…?” Harry noticed Malfoy’s downcast look and sat down on a small stool beside his bed. “Malfoy, she wanted to help. As soon as I heard her theory about the Room being broken, I knew we had to try. We weren't going to leave you there.”

“But I was on the other side,” Malfoy whispered roughly. “I wasn't — wasn't brave enough to not be.”

Harry sighed. “Look, I can't speak for anyone else, and I'm not saying you don't have anything to answer for, but… you didn't deserve to die. I couldn't live with myself if I left you there.”

Malfoy's eyes were wet, and Harry worried he might cry. “Thank you, Potter. _Thank you._ ” He leaned forward toward Harry, emphasising his words. “I'll never be able to thank you enough.”

They were so close. Suddenly, Harry wanted to see what Draco had seen, those floating threads that bound them together. Was he still thinking about it? When he saw Harry now, did the words _soulmate_ ring in his head? Or did he just want to forget about it, and move on with his interrupted life?

Instead Harry blurted out, “You said knowing about death didn't make you appreciate life. Do you still feel that way?”

Malfoy pulled back abruptly. “You remember that?”

“Of course.” Harry had gone over every word of their last conversation in his head these past few weeks. Before he could stop himself, he asked “Do you remember what else you said?”

“Like it was yesterday.”

 _And for him, it was._ Harry didn't get a chance to ask for more details, because all of a sudden the doors to the Hospital Wing burst open.

“Draco?! _Draco!_ ”

Narcissa Malfoy came barrelling down the aisle, far more dishevelled than Harry had ever seen her. With a wild look, she practically flung herself over her son’s bed. “My darling!” she cried between gasping sobs. “Oh, my _baby!_ ”

Harry caught Malfoy’s eye over his mother’s shoulder. _I'm gonna go,_ he mouthed. Malfoy nodded distractedly, and Harry crept backwards to the door. He could hear Malfoy over Narcissa's cries as he left the Hospital Wing. “Mother, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. I love you, I'm sorry, I love you.”

Harry allowed himself the small pang of jealousy at such an intimate family moment; he was used to that sensation by now. Malfoy and his mother deserved privacy. Harry would get a chance to speak with him once he'd recovered, to explain how the rescue happened, and give him a primer on the last five years. And then… Malfoy would go his own way.

After all, it wasn't like they were friends. 

 

~~~

 

The walk down the grand staircase into the Great Hall was like coming home. It had been too long since Harry had come to Hogwarts. Immediately after the war the memories had been too painful, but now Harry was able to look around and remember the good times. It didn’t hurt that everything had been completely repaired.

There was a breakfast served for the staff that remained over the summer, and the food looked as delicious as ever. Harry slid into the seat next to Parvati, who glanced up, eyes hooded with exhaustion.

“Rough night?” he joked.

“It was a little draining.” She gave Harry a tired smile. “But it's done. I went back this morning after the spells had a chance to settle, paced three times and asked for a study room and it worked like a charm. Should have asked for a spa.”

“I'll bet McGonagall would give you the password for the prefect’s bathroom if you want a good soak. It's ace.”

Parvati slid her gaze suspiciously over Harry. “You weren't a prefect.”

Harry reached for a pasty and smirked. “Didn't stop me. I was in there fourth year.”

“You were such a troublemaker,” she conceded with a laugh. “What's more, you were a terrible date.”

“I was a little preoccupied, thanks. I was in the middle of a life-or-death tournament.”

“Hmm. I think it was more like Cho being there that took your attention from me. Shame, my dress was spectacular.” Harry could tell she was only teasing.

“Have you spoken to Malfoy?” she casually added as she buttered a roll.

“I went up this morning. He looks… shocked. We didn't get to talk very long, his mother arrived.”

“Yes, she was allowed off house arrest,” McGonagall chimed in from Harry’s left. “The Ministry considered it a family emergency.”

“I'll say. Nothing like having your child back from the dead. Do you think he'll be put on house arrest with her?” Parvati asked.

“What?” Harry wheeled from her around to McGonagall. “Is he being arrested?”

“That's not up to me,” she said, but Harry could tell she disapproved of the idea.

“I rather think he’s been punished enough,” Parvati said. “And knowing —” Harry glared at her, and she cut off.

Conversation after that turned to plans for the next school year, then to Quidditch, as McGonagall’s beloved Montrose Magpies were making a hard run for the League Cup. Harry was arguing against their current strategy when a figure appeared in the entrance to the Great Hall and made its way to the table.

Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes were red-rimmed, but she still held herself with dignity. “Can I help you, Mrs. Malfoy?” McGonagall offered.

“No, thank you. I wondered if I might speak to Mr. Potter. Alone.”

McGonagall tensed, but Harry rose from his seat. “Yeah, alright. Out by the entrance?” Narcissa nodded, and Harry followed her out of the Great Hall, to the entryway where they could see the main doors.

Facing Harry, Narcissa took a deep breath; obviously what she had to say pained her. “It goes without saying that I cannot repay you, Mr. Potter. I will be forever indebted to you. Myself and —” _Lucius,_ she was probably going to say, but wisely thought better of it. Harry would never have to contend with forgiveness for Lucius Malfoy; he was serving a life sentence in Azkaban.

He wondered what Draco felt when he learned of his father’s fate.

“In any case,” Narcissa continued smoothly, “you cannot know what this means to me. Maybe someday when you have a child, you will understand. However,” and her eyes narrowed, glittering in a way that reminded Harry sharply of Draco, “I must ask. Did you know about this when we spoke?”

She didn’t have to specify _when_ they spoke; Harry knew she was referring to that moment in the Forest. She was asking if it was really a lie, if he thought Draco was actually alive at that time.

“No,” Harry answered honestly. “I didn’t know. I really thought he was dead. As far as I knew, I was lying to you.”

“Hmm.” She regarded him carefully for a moment. “I believe I threatened you for that lie when we last saw one another.”

“You did,” Harry answered, unafraid. “Even though my testimony that you helped me with no expectation of reward is what saved you from prison.”

“Oh, I am well aware of how it worked out for me. And I am also aware of why you did it. For you, it was quite necessary. A very Slytherin action, one might say.”

“One might.”

“So you lied twice. Once to me, and once when you allowed the Wizengamot to believe that I switched sides out of vengeance, and not of hope.”

“Would you have?” Harry asked curiously. “Turned on Voldemort if you knew Draco was dead.”

There was a long silence. “I am not sure,” she admitted at long last. “I certainly blamed that creature for a great many things that happened to my family. But his was a compelling force.”

Harry snorted in derision. “Plenty of people resisted him.”

Narcissa clenched her fists. “I have lived these past five years with a broken heart, one made worse by those final, agonising moments of tearing my way through a battle, searching for a son who was already gone. Do not expect me to forget that so soon.”

“I — no.” Harry stepped back, chagrined. “I don’t regret the outcome, but I do regret that you were hurting, Mrs. Malfoy.”

She nodded, somewhat appeased. “In any case, you have settled the debt twice, now. I do not think I can stay quite so angry with you anymore, now that you have returned my Draco to me.”

Harry wasn’t sure he could remain so angry with her, either, after seeing how much she loved Malfoy. Family stuff always got to him. He didn’t think they would ever be friendly, though.

He couldn’t help it, he had to ask. “What will happen to Malfoy now?”

“Draco will return home with me,” she stated decisively. “He is being discharged to my care this evening. I am leaving with my Auror escort now to prepare the Manor for him.”

“Right.” That was that, then.

Narcissa made to leave, then turned back. “What exactly was it that lead you to pursue this, after all these years?”

“Er… Parvati had a theory.” If he wasn’t talking to Malfoy about the soulmate threads, he certainly wasn’t telling Narcissa.

“Ah, the Unspeakable. I suppose we can trust her to keep a secret.”

“Secret?” She wasn’t planning on hiding Malfoy away forever, right?

She arched a brow. “About your spectral conversation with my son. He told me all about it.”

Harry gaped at her. _Wait, so she_ knew _I really thought Malfoy was dead? Was she testing me?_

Narcissa didn’t wait for an answer, only went towards the main doors once more. “I’d be careful who else you tell about that little artifact, Mr. Potter,” she remarked as she went. “Playing with death is a rather Dark subject.”

Before Harry had a chance to respond, a man in Auror uniform appeared, and Narcissa Malfoy’s heels went clicking down the steps of Hogwarts.

 

~~~

 

That could have been the end of it. Harry had seen Malfoy this morning, knew he was going to be alright. But things felt… _unfinished,_ and Harry found himself in the Hospital Wing once more, later that afternoon.

Malfoy stood next to his bed, no longer in a patient’s robe, slowly buttoning a dark blue shirt that appeared a size too big for him. His old clothes must have been too smoke damaged to repair, and he’d had to settle for a spare set from Pomfrey.

“You’re back,” Malfoy said. He looked better than this morning, though his hands were shaking slightly.

“Yeah. Wanted to say… goodbye, I guess.” Malfoy didn’t answer, and Harry continued. “Your mother is something else.”

The buttoning stopped. “What do you mean by that?”

“She’s… talking to her feels like being caught in a spider web.”

Malfoy didn’t actually seem insulted. “Yes, she’s quite clever, isn’t she? Did she interrogate you?”

“She had questions, yeah.”

“About that mean little stunt you pulled on her, I’d wager.” Malfoy began buttoning again, very deliberately.

“I — she told you about that?”

“I was puzzled how she avoided prison. She told me she helped you, but that didn’t ring true, so I pressed her for the whole story.”  Malfoy finished the last button at this throat and clenched his jaw. “You knew very well I was dead and yet you tricked her.”

“Malfoy… I had to. I couldn't risk saying no when she asked, I didn’t know how she would react. And I suppose you weren’t dead, after all.”

“That doesn’t make it less of a lie.”

“No, it doesn’t. I don’t regret doing it, but I feel awful, if that makes any sense.”

“So.” Malfoy sat back down on the cot and began pulling on his socks and shoes. “Five years. It’s all so surreal. Yesterday I was barely coming to terms with my death, and now I have to learn how to live in a whole new world.”

“It’s a good world, for the most part,” Harry offered.

“And will I be _allowed_ to live in it?” Malfoy asked bluntly. “My mother told me what her consequences were, as well as my… my father’s. Am I to be put on trial as well?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “But I really doubt it. There was a special court right after the war, because so many people in the Ministry had been corrupt, and that was dissolved after all the trials. They declared everything closed so the world could… move on. As much as we could. So I’m not sure how they would try you.”

“You’d be surprised,” Malfoy said grimly.

“I won’t let them,” Harry declared, shocking both himself and Draco. “You didn’t really want to be there, and you were so young, so —” He stopped short, and laughed. “You _are_ so young, I mean.”

Malfoy glowered. “I’m of age.”

“I know, I know. And I know you don’t feel like a child — I didn’t at your age, at the end of the war. It’s just, it’s so strange. You’re a teenager. What are you even going to do?”

“Catch my breath. This is still completely surreal.” Harry could tell that Malfoy was attempting to be stoic as he stood on unsteady feet. “I just want to crawl into my own bed and sleep for a week. And after that… well, study for my NEWTS. I have a lot of catching up to do, and I don’t think my mother will let me leave her side for some time. So I’ll be on a sort of house arrest as well, which… let’s not pretend I don’t deserve it.” Malfoy looked away from Harry, out the window of the Hospital Wing where the late afternoon sun was shining brightly. “I need to make amends for some things,” he admitted.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Harry recalled another part of their conversation in the Forest. “You can think about the future now, instead of just surviving.”

“Indeed. I can actually walk the halls of my own home without running into… well. That’s also something I have to thank you for.”

“I have to thank you, too,” Harry admitted.

Malfoy cocked his head. “Why?”

“You walked with me. When I thought it was all over, that I wasn't coming back. I know it was hard for you in that moment, that you thought you were dead, but you still stood beside me.”

“I’m… I’m not sure I can talk about that yet. I felt…” Malfoy’s voice shook, and he put a hand out to steady himself against the windowsill. “I thought I was being punished. That I’d be trapped in the Forbidden Forest for all eternity.”

“I’m glad we were both wrong,” Harry offered. “That we’re alive.”

“Perhaps someday you can tell me how _you’re_ alive.” Harry twitched; he’d never told anyone about King’s Cross, except for Ron and Hermione. Maybe it was only fair he tell Malfoy, since they had both crossed the line.

“Maybe,” he answered vaguely.

Malfoy didn’t press him for any more details on that. Instead he furrowed his brow and asked, “Just what exactly put the notion in your head to come and rescue me _now?_ After all these years, you just decided to come looking for me?”

Harry froze.

He could lie. Harry had been thinking about lies all morning, and their consequences. He’d been honest with Malfoy in the Forest, thinking he deserved to hear the truth at the end. He’d lied to Narcissa, using her love against her, betting on her desperation. It all came down to risk: what did Harry risk by telling the truth, that he’d heard a fairy story about soulmates and thought it might mean them?

A terribly uncomfortable conversation, for one. Did he expect Malfoy to admit to being Harry’s soulmate? He’d just gone through an extraordinary ordeal. Questions about destiny and… and _love_ were probably the last thing he wanted to deal with. Harry didn’t even know how to deal with it himself. And he definitely didn’t want Malfoy to think Harry had rescued him hoping for something more between them. He didn’t even know if he was attracted to Malfoy, let alone able to fall for him. He was seventeen! Or eighteen? It was past June… Merlin, Harry didn’t even know for sure they were connected by a thread — he’d never taken the wand into the Love room to test it.

And what did Harry stand to gain?

_Nothing. I don’t expect anything from Malfoy. What could there ever be between us?_

No. It was for the best Harry leave it be. It didn’t matter in the end, right? Parvati had told him most people didn’t end up with their soulmate. Her colleagues at the Department of Mysteries weren’t even sure if everyone _had_ a soulmate.

Ignoring his misgivings, Harry chose omission as the best course of action. “Parvati and I spoke about her theories on the Room of Requirement, and I mentioned I hadn’t actually seen you die. It all went kind of quickly from there. You know how I am.”

Malfoy seemed dubious, but graciously didn’t push for a better explanation. “Once again I benefit from the Gryffindor tendency to charge in. I’d say three Gryffindors, but McGonagall is far more level-headed.”

“Good thing,” Harry joked. “I might have burned down the castle.”

Malfoy shivered at the mention of the Fiendfyre. He moved away from the window, and Harry backed up to let him pass, wondering when they’d gotten so close. He found he didn’t want their conversation to be over, but Malfoy was looping a cloak around his shoulders, apparently ready to leave. He seemed edgy, as if he wanted to put some distance between Harry and himself. Was he thinking about the threads?

“I suppose this is goodbye for now, Potter.”

“Right, yeah.” Harry couldn’t resist, he looked at Malfoy’s wrist — stupid, they weren’t in the Love room and didn’t have a Deathly Hallow to guide them. He wasn’t going to see anything. Malfoy looked at him suspiciously, and Harry thrust his hand forward to cover for his strange behaviour.

“I’ll see you around.”

Malfoy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You shook my hand already. In the Forest.”

Harry shrugged and dropped his hand. He wasn’t going to push. Malfoy watched the motion with what Harry thought might be resignation, then straightened, backing toward the door of the Hospital Wing. He inclined his head towards Harry, bowing slightly in a gesture of gratitude.

“Again, thank you. Truly.”

It was too formal, almost forced, and Harry wanted to stop him from going. The conversation seemed unnaturally cut off, like the thread on Harry’s wrist. _That can’t be it. Not after everything._

But he couldn’t find words to express that, so he simply nodded, and watched as Malfoy turned and left.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New year, new chapter. Thank you all for your lovely comments and for waiting patiently! I participated in the most recent HD Erised, and Tropesfest right before that, which took my attention since those were gift exchanges on a deadline. (I hope you'll check those fics out!) Also it's been a rollercoaster of a year for me emotionally. It's honestly been a relief to get back to this fic. I'm on tumblr and I'd love to see you over there!

One of the most difficult things about having adventures, as Harry discovered over the years, was the fact that life went on immediately after. Mundane things like work and chores could only wait for so long. 

With Malfoy safely on his way home, McGonagall had congratulated Harry and Parvati on their daring idea, and then gone back to her duties as Headmistress. Parvati was involved in several time-sensitive projects at the Department of Mysteries, and wasn’t able to stick around and celebrate. So it was that only a week after the breathtaking rush of speaking to Malfoy again, Harry found himself alone again at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, staring at his neglected mountain of paperwork.

Working with Hermione couldn’t exactly be called exciting, but it was important. It was something Harry had fallen into rather than; he’d been so indecisive about a career, and Hermione tended to take on more work than she could possibly handle, so when he’d offered to help her sort memos one night during her first few harried months at the Ministry, it only made sense. Two years later, and Harry was still her valued assistant. 

He was just going over line edits that had been added to a bill on Centaur employment rights (not that Harry could ever imagine a Centaur applying for a job, Firenze aside) when a _tap-tap-tap_ at his window drew his attention.

Sitting on the windowsill was the largest, most terrifying owl Harry had ever laid eyes on. It glared at him and scratched at the glass, emitting one baleful hoot.

Harry carefully opened the window, his wand hand at the ready, wondering who would be sending a strange owl to his secret address. When he reached for the parchment, the owl pecked his hand sharply and pushed into the room. Harry yelped and watched it perch on the back of his chair.

If an owl could roll its eyes, Harry would have sworn that was exactly what it did. It made no more violent moves, though, so Harry opened the parchment after casting a number of detection spells revealed nothing malicious.

_Potter,_

_Your house seems to be under a Fidelius Charm, but given that you were my cousin’s heir, I can only assume you are at the Black residence. This is my mother’s owl, and (through spells I am not privy to) I am told it can find any Black property in existence. If you would be so kind as to give me your address, I won’t be forced to send this beastly creature again._

As if it sensed Draco’s insult, the owl gave another threatening hoot. Harry, no longer worried, shushed it and continued reading.

 _I am writing to let you know that I have arrived safely at the Manor. It is rather —_ and here were several scratch marks, as if Malfoy had changed his mind about what word to use — _strange to be back here. It is very quiet. Mother is of course beside herself with happiness at my return. I was faced with one of the most peculiar encounters of my life when I presented myself at the Ministry records department to have my death certificate cancelled, although the ancient witch at the desk seemed to have done this sort of thing before._

_I have been informed that I will not be charged with any crimes by the Ministry. They have, as you predicted, moved on, and can’t be bothered with someone who was a minor for a portion of the war. It is not possible to describe my relief._

Harry was relieved, too. He’d spent the last week nervously speculating what reaction Malfoy would face at the Ministry. Not that he deserved no repercussions at all, but Harry didn’t want to see him in prison.

_I cannot help but feel I have got off lightly. As I indicated in our previous conversation, I am aware that I must answer for certain things. In the meantime, Mother thinks it best if I lay low for a while. She’s still terrified that the Aurors are going to show up and drag me away._

_One consequence of my actions is that I am definitely expelled from Hogwarts. I will be allowed to sit my NEWTS privately, but given that the last year of school wasn’t conducive to studying, I will be starting from scratch. There are things from the sixth year curriculum I have to revisit as well. As I can no longer depend on my name or connections (and I know you must find that hilarious), I will have to be diligent with my marks to ensure I have employment opportunities._

_Thus my immediate future appears to be a quiet one, and I must admit that I am thankful. My apparent death is still like a nightmare, one that will take me some time to come to terms with. Still, I owed you a letter to set your mind at ease. And if I may be so bold, I promise I will not make you regret saving me, whether our paths cross again or not._

_You do not owe me a reply, Potter._

_Gratefully,_

_Draco Malfoy_

“You do not owe me a reply,” Harry snorted. Malfoy had as good as asked for one, when he requested Harry’s address. Well, if Malfoy was going to reach out, then Harry was definitely going to write him back. Maybe not right away — that was desperate — but eventually, and not in nearly as formal a tone.

In fact, even if he waited to send it, he could start composing his reply straight away. He tossed an owl treat out the open window, slammed it shut as soon as the aggressive owl flew after it, and searched for a blank piece of parchment.

 _Malfoy,_ Harry began. 

_The owl found me just fine. Please don’t send it again. My address will be on the envelope._

_I’m glad you’re not going to Azkaban. You’ll have to figure out what atonement means on your own, but it sounds like you’re already thinking about it._

_As far as studying goes, I took some catch-up courses for my NEWTS and I did fine, so a swot like you should be aces. I studied more after Hogwarts, too; it’s a long story but if you ever want to hear it let me know._

_I’m not sure if you’re being literal about nightmares, but I have a few suggestions about dealing with them. Even after five years it can be hard to believe it’s all over. Just don’t go too hard on the Dreamless Sleep, even if you’re tempted._

_You don’t “owe” me a reply either, but feel free to write me back._

There Harry paused, unsure how to sign off. In formal letters he used ‘sincerely,’ and with his friends he said ‘love.’ What could be in between? ‘Yours?’ That made Harry blush furiously. In the end he decided to just leave his name.

— _Harry_

  
  


~~~

  
  
  


After that first letter, Harry found himself corresponding with Malfoy. It was infrequent; Harry didn’t want to seem too eager to talk, and Malfoy was likely busy catching up over a whole year’s worth of courses. But he kept Harry updated with briefs on what he was cramming for, and peppered his letters with scathing humour aimed at everything from the tutors his mother hired to the last few peacocks who were roaming wild on the Manor grounds.

It wasn’t as if Malfoy was a secret that Harry was keeping. Paperwork had been filed at the Ministry, and Hogwarts hadn’t been entirely empty for the summer, so there had been an inevitable article in the _Prophet,_ breathlessly detailing his rescue and return to the living. “He wasn’t really dead,” Harry had muttered, suspecting that Narcissa was the unnamed source in an attempt to drum up sympathy for her son. It had worked: Rita Skeeter thought he was a poor, tragic figure who would forever be displaced in time. 

In fact, as Malfoy had disappeared on May 2nd, and returned in the first week of July, he had missed his birthday of June 5th entirely. Short of moving his birthday forward, however, there wasn't much to be done to reconcile his true chronological age. (Harry had mentioned this to Parvati, who laughed and said, “Malfoy as a Leo? Ha! Can you imagine?” Harry could not imagine. He didn't even know what that meant, even being a Leo himself.)

Harry himself had firmly refused any interviews, as he always did these days, and returned to his very important but very much un-newsworthy work of assisting Hermione. Today they were gathered around a pile of proposals from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It wasn’t boring, necessarily, especially when they worked together, but McGonagall’s offer simmered in the background of Harry’s thoughts. A rapid scratching sound caused him to look up from the papers.

“Is that another letter from Malfoy?” Hermione pointed at the large eagle owl perched on her windowsill, an envelope clasped in its beak. It didn’t scratch at the glass more than once, choosing to sit and wait calmly for Harry to let it inside. 

“Hey, Perseus.” Harry opened the window, and the owl blinked at him placidly and held out its leg. 

“Rather dignified, isn’t he?” Hermione remarked. Harry stroked Perseus along his beak, earning a soft hoot. “He likes you, it seems. Rather like his owner.” 

Harry scoffed, and Hermione hid a small laugh behind her hand. “It’s true, isn’t it? That’s certainly not the first letter you’ve received from Malfoy.”

“It’s nothing special, we’re just catching up. He thinks he owes me.”

“I’d say he’s right.” Harry turned an incredulous look towards her, but Hermione continued. “I know you would never hold it over him. That’s not the way you are. But going from speaking to Parvati about children’s stories to pulling him from the jaws of death, well, that’s something, even for you.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He’d told both Ron and Hermione that a casual conversation with Parvati about the soulmate threads had led to further discussion about her work in general; eventually her research into the Room of Requirement came up, and after comparing notes they’d decided Malfoy might still be alive. Even if he trusted his two closest friends with his own secrets, he didn’t feel it was his business to reveal anything about the threads, not now that Malfoy was alive and involved as the other party.

Not that Malfoy was _aware_ Harry knew anything about that.

He couldn’t help but wonder if the threads were why Malfoy was making an effort to stay in contact. Near-death experiences aside, there was never any love lost between them, and their past antagonistic relationship was much closer for Malfoy than Harry, who’d had years to get over childhood rivalries. Was Malfoy trying to be friendly because he believed Harry was his soulmate? Or was it his way of making amends, of being a better person? Did he even _like_ Harry? 

With every sporadic letter they exchanged, Harry grew more curious. Somewhere beneath jokes and platitudes were deeper conversations waiting to be had, and Harry didn’t know how to start them. He was also worried about pushing Malfoy too far, of scaring him off. 

And so here he sat, eight months later, back to his old routines as if he didn’t have a looming metaphysical question hanging over his head. When he left Hogwarts, he’d been resigned to never knowing the answer, and told himself he didn’t care. But then Malfoy had reached out, and Harry couldn’t help himself.

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice broke through the fog of his thoughts. “You’re a million miles away. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Sorry, where were we?”

She eyed him skeptically. “You’ve had something on your mind for a while. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me?”

Harry laughed nervously. “What could I possibly have to tell you?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked.” She shuffled a few papers while pointedly not looking Harry in the eye. “I thought perhaps you’d met someone, except you don’t find time to go out and meet new people.”

“I go out!” Harry protested.

Hermione waved him off. “I’m not saying you don’t, only that it’s with the same crowd. There’s nothing _wrong_ with that. Goodness knows I’m the same.”

“Eh, you meet new people all the time.”

“Yes, for my job. Otherwise I’ve a close-knit group of friends, and I’m perfectly happy for it.”

“Well, I am too.”

“Again, that’s fine. I was only saying that if you had met someone, I can’t imagine where.” Hermione glanced up at Harry slyly. “You know, for a moment there, Ron and I thought you were dating Parvati.”

Harry sputtered, his huff of indignation so strong that several papers went skittering across the floor. “Why did you think that?”

“You were being so mysterious about meeting up with her.”

“That’s because she works in the Department of _Mysteries._ Anyway, I told you what we were up to eventually.” _Mostly._

“No matter, we knew it couldn’t be true once she blazed across the society pages with Oliver Wood.” 

“Too right.” Harry nodded decisively. He respected Parvati and enjoyed her company, but he wasn’t attracted to her. In any case, she believed he was destined to end up with Malfoy. 

Malfoy, whom Harry couldn’t stop thinking about.

In his experience, Hermione would eventually figure everything out. Maybe it was best to get ahead of her. Harry gathered his scattered pages and tried to act nonchalant.

“I suppose I have met someone new,” he threw out casually. Hermione whipped her head around, her curls following a moment later.

“No! Who?”

Harry tried to keep a straight face, but her surprised expression was too funny. “Malfoy,” he laughed.

She rolled her eyes. “Malfoy isn’t new, you’ve known him forever.”

“He is, though,” Harry said, realising how true it was. “The way he writes in his letters, he’s so different. The shock of being basically thrown forward in time, thinking he was dead… he’s still kind of a git, but he’s not mean anymore, you know?”

“I imagine that would be distressing,” Hermione agreed. “And to be quite frank, he already seemed traumatised during the war.” She frowned. “Still, Harry, it’s one thing to exchange letters, and quite another to truly become friends. He may feel that he owes you his life, but as a child he was cruel and violent to you, to all of us. Do you really think he’s changed?” There was no judgement in Hermione’s voice, which Harry appreciated.

“I guess it’s hard to tell from just letters,” he admitted. “He could just be acting sorry.” It hurt Harry to consider that Malfoy may have been leading him on, but for what purpose? Because Harry was famous and respected?

“You have a big heart, and you like to believe the best of people. Just keep that in mind. But I’m sure whatever his intentions, that Malfoy must appreciate writing to you. It must feel very lonely, being displaced like that.”

Harry nodded in agreement; Malfoy did sound lonely, even if he tried to hide it with snark. He left Hermione to the paperwork and took a short break to read the latest letter. True to form, Malfoy and he were still on a last-name basis, regardless of how Harry signed his own replies.

_Potter,_

_I trust the new year is finding you well. Our holiday celebrations were subdued, but lovely. Thank you for the dragonhide journal — I did tell you not to get me anything, but as usual you never listen to reason. I refuse to feel guilty for abiding by the no-gifts agreement._

Harry smiled to himself. He’d spotted the little journal at Flourish and Botts, and thought it might be perfect for Malfoy to take notes in while studying. He suspected that Malfoy had suggested the ‘no-gifts’ rule because his family vaults had been well-depleted by reparations and he was low on funds, but Harry had more money than he knew what to do with, and expected nothing in return.

_Mother has stopped looking at me with panic in her eyes, as if I might disappear at any instant, which is quite a relief. Her house arrest term is coming to a close soon. She keeps talking about moving elsewhere, perhaps France or Switzerland, when she is free, and I can tell she expects me to follow._

That made Harry frown. He had become used to having Malfoy back in his life — not that owls couldn’t be sent across the Channel, but it seemed so far away. He realised with a start that he’d been expecting to see Malfoy in person eventually, now that they were civil. Harry felt a slight tug of _want_ and dismissed it, reading on.

_I don’t think I want to leave Britain, though. I should be ready to sit my NEWTS in June, and my tutor in Potions believes he can connect me with an apprenticeship somewhere. (You would hate this man, Potter — he’s like a cross between Binns and Snape, very boring yet very exacting. I appreciate the rigorous curriculum, myself.) I doubt Mother wants me to work, and if I follow her I wouldn’t have to, since there are definitely vaults hidden in Switzerland. (I shouldn’t tell you that, but somehow I trust you. Look at me, I’ve become sentimental.) Yet I find myself with the desire to make my own way. I’m sure you find that admirable. I find it practical — I’ll never be accepted back in society by resting on the privileges that were afforded to me in the past._

Harry did find it admirable, and suspected that Malfoy had reasons that weren’t only practical: his pride, and wanting to distance himself from the unpleasant things that relying on power and money had drawn him into, before he realised he wasn’t cut out for it.

_Of course, no plans can be made until I actually pass my exams. I am confident but I prefer not to get ahead of myself. So I will try to appreciate this last bit of time I have, a simple student living with his mother, before real life rushes back at me. It has been immensely helpful to have the months of relative quiet. When you told me that you went back to Hogwarts to sit for your own NEWTS, I admit I have wondered how you dealt with the memories. Even in a peaceful setting they often threaten to swallow me whole._

_Enough with the morbidness. It’s a whole new year, after all. If you feel like writing, tell me what gifts you received for Christmas._

_Cordially,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Malfoy still wrote letters like an old man, even though he was a teenager. It made Harry chuckle every time. He’d been formal and stilted with Harry when they spoke the morning after his rescue, as well, and Harry thought it might be a defence mechanism of some kind. Would Malfoy would still speak that way in person, or would some part of his old snarky self would shine through? Every time Harry thought about asking him to meet up, his Gryffindor bravery faltered. What was he hoping to gain from that? Just some witty banter? And what excuse would he give?

The answer was staring him in the face Malfoy would take his NEWTS in June, just after his birthday. Harry could ask him out for a celebratory drink. Should he? Folding the letter carefully, Harry worried his lip, trying to determine if that was a good idea or not. When he looked up, he saw Hermione staring at him knowingly; he set the letter aside with a flush and got back to work.

He had time to decide.

  
  


~~~

  
  


What a difference a year made. The Malfoy who showed up in the park, a stone’s throw from the Leaky, was healthier looking than the one Harry had spoken so haltingly with in the Hospital Wing. He was still pale, of course, but his eyes were bright, and his cheeks were flushed with life. Harry was still a bit awed at seeing him so _alive,_ after thinking of him as dead for five years. 

In deference to the Muggle park, Malfoy had eschewed robes, but he was still overdressed for the weather in dark grey trousers and a crisply pressed black shirt. Interestingly, his hair was growing out, and he nervously pushed a lock of it behind one ear as he sat on the far end of the bench next to that Harry had chosen.

“I’d say I was surprised to receive your summons, but doing the unexpected is honestly what you live for.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not a _summons._ I invited you. Here, it’s hot out, thought you might like a cold drink.” He produced two bottles of Fanta that he’d picked up at a corner shop and surreptitiously placed under a Cooling Charm.

Malfoy raised a curious eyebrow at the Muggle drink, but accepted it with a short nod of thanks.

“So to what do I owe this ‘invitation,’ then?”

“Eh, you know. Thought you might like to celebrate passing your exams with someone other than your mum.”

“Rather bold of you to assume I passed.” Malfoy took a long swallow of the orange drink, glancing at Harry from the corner of his eyes.

“You did pass, right?” Harry sputtered.

“Relax, Potter. Don’t get your broomstick twisted. I passed with flying colours. No excuse not to, with how hard I’ve studied.”

Harry relaxed. “That’s good, then. And how was your birthday?”

“Our last house elf made me tarte tatin, and my mother gave me a number of small, tasteful presents. Certainly nothing like the spread I would have received in my youth.  Also I've no idea what my real age is, anymore. Am I really nineteen?” Malfoy pouted.

“A Leo,” Harry snorted. 

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Sorry you didn’t get an armful of presents.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s better than not being here at all.” Malfoy ran his finger along the rim of the bottle. “Which I have you to thank for.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry protested. “You’ve said as much in your letters.”

“I didn’t really expect you to write me back, you know,” Malfoy admitted after a minute of silence. “I knew I owed you an update, after what you went through to save me, but that was it.”

“Just like I didn’t _owe you a reply,_ ” Harry teased.

“So why did you??” Malfoy asked, confusion evident in his slightly shaking voice. “We weren't exactly friends. Far from it. Why act like we are now?”

Harry already struggled with his reasons for being interested in Malfoy's well-being; he certainly couldn't begin to explain it Malfoy himself. Part of him almost wished Malfoy would admit to having seen something that tied them together on that fateful night, so it would be out in the open. But if Malfoy didn't want to address it — whatever his reasons were — Harry wasn't going to bring it up.

“You don’t think we’re friends?” Harry asked instead. Malfoy wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Because we’ve been writing to each other for a while now. It’s not the same as hanging out, but still.”

Malfoy gazed out over the trees. “I suppose it’s time we talked for real,” he said quietly. “I did pull a runner at Hogwarts, right after.”

Harry shifted on the bench, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Well, you’d just been through a traumatic experience. Trust me, I get it. I’ve been there.”

“Is that what you did after the battle? Pulled a runner?”

“Not as such. I slept for like a week, though.” If Malfoy had tried to talk to Harry about this years earlier, he’d have met a stone wall, as Hermione liked to say. But it had been long enough that Harry felt okay opening up at least a little, even to Malfoy. “It was hard to be around people, even the people who had been there for me through it all. It was over, but it didn't feel over.”

“I understand that,” Malfoy murmured in agreement. “Even after everything, seeing that years had passed since the war, it took time to accept.”

“I let everyone just pull me along for a while,” Harry continued. “I am glad I didn’t try to return to Hogwarts in the fall, because it was still under repair and I think that would have been awful. Like I wrote to you, I studied at home before going back to sit the exams.”

“Like me.”

“I didn’t have fancy expensive tutors,” Harry teased. “Just Hermione.”

“I’m sure Granger was more than competent,” Malfoy said, then blinked as if surprised at himself.

Harry grinned. “I’ll tell her you said that.” Malfoy reddened, and looked away. “Anyway, it was her idea to go to Muggle university for a two year course after that. Ron didn't come along, he went to help George at the shop.”

“Yes, you briefly mentioned that in one of your letters. Was it strange? Living in the Muggle world?”

“You forget I grew up as a Muggle. And we didn’t live there, just went to classes. I never even declared a course of study.” That was simply a lack of filing; he’d mostly taken classes in Education, feeling drawn to that department.

Malfoy cocked his head. “Why go then?”

“I couldn’t decide what else to do,” Harry confessed. “I didn’t want to be an Auror after all, even though that’s where I focused my NEWTS. I didn't want to play Quidditch professionally, either, even though I was asked. I might have done nothing if I hadn't gone with Hermione. “

“And Granger? Why did she return to the Muggle world?”

“She studied political theory, which isn’t exactly offered in NEWT courses.”

“Ah. Hence her position in the Ministry. Which I’m still rather vague on.”

“She created it,” Harry smiled proudly. “Interdepartmental Liaison to the Minister. Basically she takes everyone’s good ideas and tries to make them a reality.”

“Nosey as ever. I don’t mean that in a bad way,” Malfoy rushed to clarify. “Seems as if she’s found a way to do everything, rather than decide on just one career.”

“That’s why I help her. There’s just… so much.”

“It surprised me to hear that you were doing paperwork,” Malfoy admitted. “You never seemed like a diligent student. But I suppose you had other things on your mind back at school.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“And what will you do when you get tired of being Granger’s secretary?” Malfoy asked with a sniff. 

Harry only laughed. “I’m not ashamed to be helping Hermione out. She’s done a lot of good.”

“Of course. But you’re not a follower, Potter. You’re a leader.”

“I…” It was true that Harry knew he was doing good, working or Hermione. But he was also bored more often than not. _Strange, that Malfoy seems to know me so well._ “I’ve been avoiding a decision,” he admitted. “The DADA position at Hogwarts was offered to me.”

Malfoy leaned back and crossed his arms smugly. “See! That seems much more your speed.”

“Really?”

“You said you received an O in your NEWT, right?”

“Right.” And McGonagall knew he’d studied teaching. “It’s just… a lot of responsibility.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you aren’t teaching _now._ It would have been odd to have you administer the exam to me last week.”

“What’d you get?” Harry asked curiously.

“An E,” Malfoy admitted. “I can’t cast a Patronus. All that studying, and foiled by a charm that no amount of book smarts can produce.”

Teaching his friends how to cast a Patronus had been a bright spot in Harry’s otherwise dismal fifth year, and he remembered it fondly. Maybe there was something to McGonagall’s offer after all. 

 _Maybe I could even teach Malfoy._  

He could picture it: standing side by side, guiding Malfoy’s wand movements. What would his Patronus be? Harry caught Malfoy regarding him strangely, and quickly came back to the conversation, deflecting from himself.

“Is that all you’ve were doing since coming back, then? Studying? It’s mostly what you wrote about.”

“What else could I do?,” Malfoy sighed. “There are only so many cups of tea I can drink with my mother.”

“I dunno. Go out with your friends? You’re allowed to leave the house.”

“I leave,” Malfoy said testily. “I’ve begun a catalogue of the wildflower species in the woodlands around the manor. It may serve me well as a thesis option should I go into Potions.”

“You sound like Neville,” Harry laughed. 

“You still see Longbottom around?”

“We’ve a regular pub night at the end of every month, the whole lot of us.”

“That sounds nice,” Draco said wistfully. 

It occurred to Harry that he never saw any of the other Slytherins from their year out and about, in Diagon or elsewhere. “Have you not heard from anyone?” he asked, not unkindly. 

“Blaise wrote me to say he’s glad I’m not dead. Otherwise, no. Let’s be honest, Potter. I wasn’t exactly cultivating close friendships those last couple of years at school.” 

“Well, maybe you could go visit Blaise, then.” Harry had the sudden reckless notion of inviting Draco to pub night, but set the idea aside for later. 

“Perhaps.” Malfoy tapped on the bottle in his hands with one nail, a distant expression falling over his face. Harry understood all too well the temptation to isolate himself rather than open up.

“It’s good to have someone to talk to.” 

Malfoy shrugged dismissively. “Are we not talking now?”

“About things that are bothering you, I mean.”

“Who says anything is bothering me?” 

“Malfoy.” Harry’s tone was insistent, and Malfoy met his eyes begrudgingly. “You don’t have to hide from me, you know. I get it. I’ve been there, I’ve stared death in the eye.”

“It’s like the whole world was a rug pulled out from under me,” Malfoy admitted. “One moment, there was no hope, and then…”

“And then the rest of your life is before you again. And you’re happy about it, you are, but there’s still a feeling in the pit of your stomach, like the other shoe is going to drop.”  

Malfoy nodded in agreement, then furrowed his brow. “I’ve been wondering. You said you had to die. Why didn’t you? I know you tricked him somehow, Mother saw you were alive. What happened?”

“I didn’t... I didn’t trick him,” Harry said thickly. 

“Potter, are you telling me…” Malfoy’s wide eyes seemed translucent, as they had on their long walk to the end.

Only Ron and Hermione knew the truth. And Harry had told them very soon after the battle, when things were still foggy and surreal. Speaking of it in a brightly lit park six years after was sharper somehow. But Harry remembered the tired resignation on Malfoy’s ghostly face, and the way he walked with Harry to offer a slight bit of comfort, and felt as if it was right to tell the whole story.

“I died.”

It still sounded absurd, saying it out loud.

“He killed you,” Malfoy said in a trembling voice, almost to himself, and Harry figured he must still be afraid of Voldemort, even after all this time.

“He killed a piece of himself,” Harry clarified, “one he’d left behind years ago, and sent me along with it. That’s how I came back. And he’s gone for real, Malfoy. I promise. I saw that piece on the other side.”

Letting the now empty bottle fall to the ground, Malfoy wrapped his arms around himself. “It feels like I shouldn’t be here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy. You weren’t even dead, only stuck, and that’s because the Room of Requirement broke. I’m the one that shouldn’t be here.” Harry said the last part lightly; he’d mostly processed his survivor’s guilt and was grateful to be alive. 

Malfoy smiled wryly. “You deserve your second chance, though.” 

“And you don’t?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, letting it fall in his face. “You know, I expected hate mail, or an angry mob, especially after the _Prophet_ published that I was back. But they were more concerned with your heroics, and I suppose even that’s worn stale, while I’m too pathetic for people to bother with. No one spat on me in the Leaky when I came through today.” 

“It’s been six years. I told you people wanted to move on.” 

Malfoy scratched absently at his left arm. Harry’s eyes flickered to the motion briefly, then back up to his face. He couldn't catch Malfoy's eyes. 

“Do you want to be hated?” Harry asked gently. “To be punished?”

“No one _wants_ to be hated,” Malfoy answered. He paused, then took a deep shuddering breath.

“Do you know what I thought, at that one moment of bright, searing pain from the surrounding heat, before the Room — froze, I suppose?” Harry shook his head no. “I thought, _this is what you get, Draco._ ” Malfoy screwed his eyes shut, but continued talking. “And then in the Forest, when I thought I was a ghost, it was even more apparent that I was being punished. And I couldn’t find it in me to disagree.”

Harry was struck with the urge to take Malfoy’s hand, but didn’t think it would be appreciated. “I think maybe you expect people to hate you because you hate yourself, in a way.”

“When did you become a Mind Healer?” Malfoy asked bitterly.

“I could tell you regretted it, even in the Forest.”

“How could I not, faced with your righteousness?” Malfoy turned to face Harry with a fervent look. “There you were, so brave. You were a martyr at seventeen, caught between life and death as we spoke. I was terrified, but I was also… in awe of you, a little bit. Ashamed, of my own actions. And just… so sad, that it had come to that.”

Harry suspected that Malfoy was sad for another reason as well, one that had come to light when they tried to shake hands. He pushed that aside as a conversation they might never have.

“I’m not that righteous, you know. I was doing what had to be done. We were both sacrifices, in a way. On different sides.” 

Malfoy scoffed. “It’s true,” Harry insisted. “You were set on a path just like I was.”

“And I could have left it at any time.”

“Really? I know how much you love your parents.”

Malfoy kicked at the bottle that lay at his feet, sending it toppling over with a _clank._ “Stop trying to defend me.”

“I’m not! Believe me, I’m not.” Harry thought back to fifth year, to Malfoy smirking as he led Umbridge to the DA. “You’ve actively made some very bad choices. You want to talk about hate? I hated a lot of things about you, Malfoy.” 

“Yet you write me letters like we’re the best of friends.”

“Self-pity isn’t attractive, you know.” Harry blushed at his own choice of words, and rushed past them. “Stop trying to push me away, its not working. I know you’re attempting to move on.”

Malfoy blinked, but let Harry’s remark slide. “Moving on is easier said than done. I say I should make amends, but I don’t know where to start. I’m hiding like a coward.”

“Why study for your NEWTS, then? Why stay in Britain? You told me it was because you wanted to make your own way in the world, on your own merits.”

Malfoy couldn’t argue with his own words being quoted back at him. “Why are you so insufferable?” he grumbled. “Is this what I came back for? Harry Potter, my own personal cheerleader? I should have stayed dead.”

“There’s the drama queen,” Harry laughed. “I knew you still had it in you.”

“Oh, hush. You can’t tell me you miss the spoiled little boy I was.”

“I don’t miss you being a nasty little shit, no, but it seems weird for you to be so self-deprecating.”

“Big word there, Potter. Do I have Granger or the Muggles to thank for the expansion of your vocabulary?” The smile tugging at the corner of Malfoy’s lips indicated that he was teasing, and Harry couldn’t help smiling as well.

“I’m smarter than you think, Malfoy.”

“I know,” Malfoy said softly. For a long moment, he and Harry simply stared at one another. 

“So… what’s next?” Harry said at last.

“My potions tutor believes he can get me an internship with the Ministry distribution department. It’s not glamorous,” Malfoy qualified. “They provide Wolfsbane and Blood Substitute for werewolves and vampires who are unable to purchase their own. But it’s a start.”

“I know about the program. It was one of the first things Hermione sent up to Kingsley for approval.” 

“I was meaning to write her a letter,” Malfoy said hesitantly. “Her, and a number of others. I’m just not sure where to start.”

“Hermione loves to read, but I think it’s best you do this in person.” Malfoy blanched, and Harry, ever a risk-taker, put a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be fine, I promise.”

“If you insist, Potter.” He held himself stiffly, but didn’t flinch away from Harry’s touch.

“I don’t think I have to. I think you’ll do the right thing all on your own.” Malfoy’s pleased smile made him more handsome than he had any right to be, and Harry pulled back. He had to have imagined Malfoy’s eyes following his hand — no, his wrist — as it went. 

“You know what I do insist, though? Stop calling me _Potter._ ”

Malfoy scrunched his nose up indignantly. “But then you’ll call me _Draco,_ ” he complained, “and that would be weird!” 

Merlin, he was right. “Yeah, maybe I didn’t think that through!” Harry laughed, and earned himself a shove that spilled the last of his soda. 

Harry wasn’t stupid; it would be difficult and awkward for both his friends and Malfoy to make peace with each other. It was also getting harder to ignore the little swoop of nervousness that made Harry’s stomach jump every time Malfoy smiled. He _had_ to ignore it though — Harry wasn’t going to be led around by destiny any longer, and anyway, it would just complicate things… right?  

But thread or not, they were tied together by circumstance, and Harry couldn’t imagine life without Malfoy, now that he was back among the living. 

**Author's Note:**

> End Notes: Warning for main character death, but not really. Intrigued? Read on!
> 
> This is my first attempt at posting a WIP, so thanks for coming along for the ride. Hit subscribe to be updated,and/or come say hi on [Tumblr!](https://lower-east-side.tumblr.com/)


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